Witches of East Panem
by AyYouFiction
Summary: Katniss comes from a long line of witches. The problem is that Panem's had a long history of burning witches.
1. 1

_This is more "Practical Magic" type witches than "Harry Potter" witches._

_Important! Especially for those who've read the story before._

_This is a rewrite. When I first started this story, the first chapter poured right out of me, but I kept having this feeling like something was missing, even while trying to write the 3rd chapter. So I decided to take a rest from writing for a little while and then revisited what was here. I think I know what's been chewing at me; I didn't do enough world building. Even though this version comes from the same outline as the last version, I think this time around I've introduced the characters and Katniss in her world of magick much better than I did before (at this point in time it's suppose to be low-key but very much a part of her life). I hope you guys agree. Let me know either way._

_(HG and its characters don't belong to me. Just playing around with them.)_

* * *

Just beyond the fire, I sit on the grass that crunches under the weight of my palm, still brown since the warmth of spring hasn't reached us yet. My little sister, Prim, and my mother are standing at opposite sides of the fire we've built in the meadow. They both have their arms spread out high and wide to the open, inky sky, chanting their welcome to the new season of growth for our district, the easternmost district in Panem.

My mother and my sister are witches, from a long line of witches that rose from the days before Panem—the days of war and natural disasters—when medicines were far beyond the reach of most. It was during those days that people turned to the apothecaries for help. But also rising from those ashes were the men and women that held the beliefs and knowledge of nature itself. Both of these peoples were the pillars of society, guiding and helping their neighbors through the worst of times. It didn't take long for the two groups, the healers and the spiritualists, to merge into what we now call witches.

And then Panem rose from the ashes of what was left. Witches were ignored at first because with them the few doctors in the fledgling country could remain near the central city while the outer districts could be left in the care of the witches, but that peace didn't last long. Indifference turned to disapproval and disapproval gave way to resentment until my family's practices and traditions were banned in Panem. I wish I could say that's where it stopped, but it didn't. The resentment festered until it became an outright hatred. Banning our craft was no longer enough, but soon the people of the Capitol called for the lives of those practicing.

My ancestors and people like them were burned alive in public squares throughout the districts. Even the slightest hint of compassion for witches or witchcraft could get you a death sentence. Those days were called the Dark Days and during that time, many hid their practice or stopped practicing altogether.

This is why we are in the meadow at the edge of our district. To help hide their ritual, all houses in the Seam have lit their fireplaces so that the peacekeepers in town won't notice the smoke from the outside fire. The people in the Seam do what they can to protect my mother and sister because they're the only known witches left in District 12. Without them, they'd have nothing left but doctors who are far too expensive to be of any use.

My mother and sister cross their arms over their chests and bow their heads, signaling that the ritual is at its end, and I start to stand to join them. It's cold even for this time of year so I quickly hand out the blankets for them to cover themselves.

"Think we'll have good weather this year, little duck?" I ask Prim as she wraps her blanket tightly around her body.

My sister smiles at me, closing the blanket around any exposed skin. "I think so. The air was calm."

I'm already thinking about my paths for hunting this summer because her word is good enough for me. Since she could talk, our parents said that Prim was a natural witch, predicting droughts and storms days in advance. With our mother's instruction, her predictions have only become more accurate.

Our mother is already ahead of us, walking towards our home and probably lost in thoughts of preparing for the next ritual. I think it's a good thing because she and I aren't exactly on the best terms, not since my father died four winters ago. Although I know that some things in nature can't be changed, I still can't help but blame her for my father's death in the mines. If only she'd given him a protection spell, a charm, anything that would have saved him that day.

It didn't help that since his death, she's thought of nothing but the craft. If it wasn't for Prim's interest in it, perhaps their relationship would have been much more like ours.

"Why won't you join us, Katniss?" Prim asks me as though she'd read my mind, with her round, merchant blue eyes fixed on me. She knows my answer. It's the one I give her every ritual.

"I don't have that kind of magick in me, little duck," I tell her. After years of this argument, we both know what magick I do have, but it has nothing to do with healing and everything to do with nature. I hunt for our food, and I'm damned good at it. I'm so good that my father once told me that my aim was eerily dead on, that it had to be some kind of witchcraft.

My sister gives me a look, the same look she gives me every time, telling me that my answer isn't good enough. I know she wants me in the rituals because she hopes that it will strengthen my relationship with our mother; I just don't have the heart to tell her that it would take far more than rituals to fix that.

* * *

The hearth fire has long since died out through the night, and I'm sure my house is not much warmer than outside, so I shrug on my father's jacket before I grab my forage bag from a hook on the wall. I'm out the door, and the morning sun's lit the sky to a gentle shade of blue that I can't help but stare. It's beautiful and for some reason just looking at it makes me feel good about the day. By the time I look down again, I'm already in the meadow and can't remember the walk from my house.

I plod through the brittle, brown grasses because this time of year I don't have to watch my step in the meadow. Most of the herbs haven't come back from their winter sleep. I do notice that the trees and perennials have buds forming on their limbs, but the seeds that we'd spread in the fall are about a month away from sprouting. In about a little over a month's time, my mother and sister will be here kneeling hip-deep in lush grass, picking the first herbs to dry for their medicinal stores.

At the other end of the meadow is the fence that surrounds my district. It's nothing but rusted metal with pockets of broken links that create gaps for anyone to be able to slip through or under when there's no electricity flowing through it. Most of the time, though, I don't have to worry about that, but I listen to make sure that this isn't one of those rare times nonetheless. There's no sound at all, so I shimmy under it as I've done countless times before and head for the woods.

The birds sing their morning songs for me from the tree canopy as I walk all the way to the one room house deep in the woods where I agreed to meet Gale. He's already sitting outside of it with his game bag on the ground beside him and the rope for his snares in his hands.

His ears are attuned to the sounds around him, so he hears me coming even though I'm sure I haven't made a sound. "Hey, Catnip," he greets me, ending the current braid of rope to check the tension strength.

"Hey," I answer back as I take a seat on the ground beside him.

"Ritual go alright?" he asks as though I would know, so I give him the only answer I can: "No peacekeepers arrested us."

He smiles at that and nods, then I remember what Prim told me. "Prim thinks it's going to be good weather."

At that, Gale's eyebrows raise and his smile widens. "That's what I wanted to hear!" but as soon as he finishes the words, the smile fades, and he takes a deep breath having long since stopped his rope weaving. "I'm going to miss this." He doesn't say more, but then again, he doesn't have to. I know exactly what he means. This is his last year of school and soon after he'll turn eighteen. That means he can work, but the only work available for a Seam man would be in the mines, which also means that he won't have a lot of time to go hunting.

"You'll still have Sundays," I tell him, but he shakes his head and doesn't say anything. Deep down, I know what he's thinking: that it will be the same as my father and his father, that he'll be able to hunt on Sundays, but he'll be bone-weary for it. Twelve hour shifts, six days a week can take their toll as it is, but to use his only day off for hunting would leave him no time to recover.

To lighten the mood, I bump my shoulder to his. "I can hunt for both of our families," I say weakly, trying to make this seem less dire than it is, but it's not my strong suit and the way his forced smile continues to fade only proves it. The two of us bring in just enough meat for our two families. Without him, neither one of us can see how I'll be able to bring back that much alone.

"I'll have to teach Rory and Vick to hunt," he says. It was something he intended to do much earlier, but time had a way of sneaking past us. "I'd like to start a family of my own one day, but I can't do that if leaving them means they'll starve. Two hunters in the family will take care of that."

I nod because I have nothing else to say. I dread the day he decides to marry and have children because I know that I'll lose my hunting partner to some woman that I can't yet put a face to. What woman would want her husband traipsing around the woods with another woman, even a girl, while she's at home with a baby on her hip?

But the picture in my head doesn't sit well with me. There's something about it that makes me feel uneasy, and I look up and my eyes are immediately leveled with his. What I see in his eyes unsettles me even more, but it isn't until he starts to lean in towards me to bring his face closer to mine that I understand what bothers me. I now see what he really meant, that the faceless woman is me, at least in his mind, and the "one day" would be two years from now when I can legally marry.

My stomach drops to the ground because I don't want him to have these feelings for me. What I see in his eyes is hope, and all I can feel is resentment that he's ruining our easy, uncomplicated relationship with these feelings.

"Come on," I say to him, turning my head away before his lips can come too close to mine. "We're losing good hunting time." I collect my bow and arrows and head towards the thickest part of the woods, eager to put a little distance between the two of us, and I try not to think how disappointed I've made him.

It's not long before we call it a day for hunting. It's earlier than we usually stop, but there's a tension between us that's scaring off game and making it hard to concentrate. I feel his eyes on my back as we leave the woods and head for our district, and I can't turn to face him for fear that he'll want to talk about his feelings.

It turns out that I have nothing to worry about. He says nothing to me from the time we decide to stop hunting until we're at the fence and divvying up out catch. It's not much and easy to split, just the opossum and squirrel, and all I get from him is a curt "Sure" before he takes the opossum and heads for his home. I don't like this tension between us, but then I think to myself that I would rather not think about what he really wants from me either.

By the time I get back home, my mother is talking to Prim in the kitchen while pulling down one of the bundles of herbs that was hanging near the fireplace. They're discussing which herbal mixture is best for some ailment, and I continue through the house and to the bedroom I share with my little sister, not interested in the slightest.

My thoughts are on Gale and his feelings for me and how I don't want any of them. Those feelings mean marriage; they mean children, and I can't have children. I come from a long line of witches, and even though I'm not one myself, who's to say my children won't be? I would be condemning another generation to hiding or possible death. I already spend most of my time trying to figure out ways of keeping Prim safe; I don't have enough time to think about someone else.

I'm lost in my thoughts, mindlessly slipping out of my hunting clothes and quickly replacing them with my clothes for school. When I leave my room, I see several sachets of herbal mixtures on the table and Prim's bundled in her winter coat and scarf waiting for me.

Our mother says her goodbyes to us but returns quickly to her herbs, chanting whatever it is she chants over them. I've heard that chant before, but I've never listened when she explained to Prim what it was used for, what it means. I only think about this for a second before I reach for my game bag with the one squirrel, stuff the sachets into it, and leave the house after Prim.

On the road into town, my little sister's distracted by her thoughts as we walk, so much so that it takes me calling her three times before she hears me. "What's on your mind, little duck?" I ask, but she shakes her head and says, "Nothing," before stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. It's not that cold outside for this time of year, but Prim's so small that it's no wonder she needs to bundle her layers. As she remains quiet, I think of what I can sell to buy her a better coat for next winter.

At the town square, Prim meets with one of her friends and heads towards school while, with some extra time on my side, I carry the squirrel to make one trade with the baker. He's a fairly easy trade because he loves squirrel meat, so I rush there using the most direct route I know.

The town is fully awake as I knew it would be. The merchants get up early to prepare their storefronts, sweeping and cleaning windows, or arranging their best wares to display and entice. The baker's wife is cleaning the front window, perhaps cleaning the smudges that were left from the faces of Seam children pressed against it.

To avoid her, I slip to the back. Since I don't hear her shrill voice screaming at me to go away, I'm pretty sure the trees at the side of the bakery are enough to hide me from her view.

Even so, I stop short when I reach the back of the bakery to find two of the Mellark boys fighting each other under the apple tree, near the pig pen. They're locked in some heated battle, and that along with their strong, wide builds reminds me of bears fighting. But they aren't bears; they're blond merchant boys with their flushed pale skin, shirtless and exposed.

I find myself rooting for one in particular, hoping to see him win no matter how hard I try not to care what they are doing, and I feel a chill run through me. He's struggling to keep his balance against his brother's best efforts, but suddenly he twists here and there and in the end his brother is the one on the ground underneath him. He's smiling, now, and his face lights up the entire gloomy yard. "I won that time," he says before lifting himself up and offering a hand to his brother.

"Lucky move," the other mutters and I can't help but watch how the winner wipes the sweat along his shoulders and chest with his shirt. His chest expands and contracts with his breaths causing the muscles underneath to ripple. I'm mesmerized by them; I can't turn away from them until I hear my name from behind me.

"Katniss?" the baker calls for me with some confusion from the back door of the bakery, and then his focus darts to his two sons. "It's almost time for school. Get inside and get ready," he says to them before shifting his attention back on me. "Did you want something?"

The heat rushes up my neck and cheeks and ears until I feel like I'm burning from within. I'm even starting to sweat a little. In my embarrassment, I chance a look back and see the Mellark boys looking at me. One seems amused while the other seems utterly confused by my presence.

The baker's waiting for me to answer, his patience clearly wearing thin with a typically busy morning to get back to, but the heat that's spreading throughout my body causes my mouth to go dry as well as my voice to get lost somewhere between my throat and my chest. Pathetically, all I can do is hold up my game bag to him and he takes it from me to peek inside.

"Ah, a squirrel," he says to me after finding the squirrel among the sachets, and I nod because that's all I can do. He holds up a finger to tell me to wait a minute before he disappears into the bakery.

"Hey," one of the Mellark boys says while walking by me and into his house. We don't know each other very well, just in passing, but he's being polite. I respond with something that's more of a grunt than a "hey" and notice the other Mellark boy standing behind me.

"Hi, Katniss," he says, and at first I wonder how he knows my name, but then I remember that his father said it only minutes ago. I know this Mellark. He's not a friend; I can't even call him an acquaintance, but I know him. He's the one who saved my life when I was eleven, and that's a debt I can never repay.

To add to my embarrassment, my body heat only grows with each thump of my pulse which I feel in my throat. Perhaps that's what's taken my voice. It doesn't help that I don't notice him speaking to me because I'm too busy trying to figure out where I've seen that particular shade of blue, the color of his eyes, and then it hits me. It was the color of the morning sky that I couldn't help but stare at this morning. I try to shake the thought of what my mother had told me when I was younger: "We each know more than we think we do. Coincidence can sometimes mean something."

I don't know how long he's been calling me, but I finally hear him. "Katniss? Are you okay?"

No. I'm not okay. Something is definitely wrong with me, so I run even when I hear Mr. Mellark call out, "You forgot your bread."

"I'll get it after school," I call out but don't dare look back, hoping that they think I'm rushing to get to school rather than running away from whatever this is going on with me.

* * *

I spend most of my time in school mentally chastising myself for treating Gale the way I did and my strange behavior with the Mellark boy this morning, and when school ends, I dread having to go to the bakery for my bread and sachets. For a moment, I consider not claiming it, but that would only make me look guilty. Guilty of what, I have no idea. It's bad enough that I not only left my game bag but also the sachets inside it. I couldn't even give Madge her dried strawberries and the herbs for her mother. There's no way around it; I have to go back.

So I tell Prim to go home without me, and I turn towards the bakery. Mr. Mellark eyes me in the storefront window and removes his apron before grabbing what I think is my bread and heading to the back of the bakery to meet me. The door opens, and he's holding my game bag bundled in his arms and hands it over to me. I can feel the bread inside it along with the bulges of the sachets. I wasn't too worried about the herbs, few people understand my mother's color coded system and which is used for what.

I smile and thank him before I notice his smile falter and his brows crease as though gripped by a sudden thought before he recovers and gives me another warm smile. We nod our heads to each other as a mutual thanks, but before I can turn away, I hear a scream from the town center. Prim's scream.

* * *

_When I first started this story, it all but forced me into 1st person/present tense. That hasn't changed after the revision. I know I'm not very good with this perspective, but I just don't have a choice in the matter._


	2. 2

_I rewrote this chapter too, but this one has way more changes. I've decided to approach certain key points differently because they seem to tell the story better. I hope you guys will agree that it's much better in establishing some of the background info._

* * *

The sound of my little sister's screams stops me cold. Mr. Mellark and I turn our heads in the general direction and see several people rushing past the bakery storefront, towards the center of town. I follow, my grip on my game bag locked by my anxiety but otherwise forgotten as I push my way through the crowd. At the center of the people gathered, I find my sweet, gentle sister's arm in the tight grip of a peacekeeper.

It's not just any peacekeeper. I remember this one very well because he once tried to arrest me for witchcraft when I was eleven. Otho.

He's yanking my sister's arm, and it looks so thin and fragile with such a large hand wrapped around it.

"Witch!" one of the merchants yells from the crowd, but most of them stay silent because they are not that much different from the people in the Seam. Most of them can't afford Capitol doctors, so they rely on my mother and my sister just the same when it comes to patching up wounds and curing illnesses. More than that, witches are entwined in the very fabric of our district. Even after my mother left her home in town for a Seam man years ago, she may not have been welcome in town socially, but they still respect her for her skills and knowledge.

Those here with a hatred for witches aren't from here originally, having moved from the districts closest to the Capitol within the last generation or two and still clinging to their Capitol upbringing. They are the ones glaring and screaming at my sister, but no one will stand up to them, talk against them, because to do so would mean burning next to an accused witch. Panem's history books are filled with the names of people who died for that very reason.

"Prim!" I call out to her, and Otho turns to look at me with a half smile. "Seems I had the wrong Everdeen. It's your sister that's the witch!" he says to me, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. All I can think is that they're going to burn Prim, and there's nothing I can do to stop them.

The peacekeepers who were assigned to patrol the district start to gather around Otho. One even dangles a plastic strap they use for binding wrists together, and Otho nods approvingly as they talk amongst themselves. I take a step forward, and then another, and I'm not sure what I will do when I get to them, but all I know is that I want to be by my sister's side, even if it means my death as well. I'm having trouble breathing, but I continue towards them when a strong wind sweeps through town and over my skin. It gives me a chill that causes me to stop walking because I'm shivering so badly.

Prim's eyes raise, bright blue and glistening from the tears that've formed, and catch me just as I consider lunging forward to grab his hand from her arm.

But I don't have time to do it because the crowd begins to parts to the side of me, and the head peacekeeper, Cray, steps through with two other peacekeepers behind him. He walks past where I'm standing, not giving me much thought, and straight to Otho who's smiling at him, pleased with his catch. I'm sure there's a reward for catching a witch, a genuine witch.

I can see on Othos face that his plan isn't going the way he thought. Cray doesn't look at all pleased as he takes in the scene of people around us along with the peacekeeper holding the scrawny arm of a little girl. It's even more evident when Cray's eyes land hard on him, and he slightly shrinks back.

"Someone told me you've caught a witch?"

Otho pulls Prim's arm up with one hand and waves a small bundle of corded herbs with the other. "This one here! Caught her red handed."

The man doesn't have time to finish his sentence before Cray snatches the bundle from him and studies it. The time it takes him to say anything leaves me feeling uncomfortable so I'm not surprised when wild excitement in Otho's eyes turns desperate, shifting between the herbs and Cray as though willing the man to say something.

"What are you showing me, here?" Cray finally speaks, and Otho's mouth hangs open, his jaw twitching to say something but nothing comes out. It seems his confidence has completely left him. Cray doesn't wait for him to speak and plucks a dried petal from the bundle to hold mere inches in front of the peacekeeper's face.

"Are you trying to tell me that a bundle of dried wildflowers from a little girl is witchcraft to you?"

Otho shifts from his left foot to his right, helplessly watching the other peacekeepers slowly wander away from him. He stutters out a response that isn't anywhere near coherent enough to understand. He tries again, but he doesn't have enough time because Cray is speaking to him, practically yelling at him. "Let the girl go, Otho. For years you've been seeing a witch around every corner. This isn't the Dark Days where we accuse little girls of witchcraft for sharing dried fucking wildflowers!"

"But…I…she," Otho stammers some more until Cray's eyes level with his. The two stand there staring at each other for what seems like eternity until Otho's eyes drop down to his shoes, and just like that, Prim's wrist is released and her arm drops to her side. Otho's standing beside her with his head down, fully accepting that he's lost his argument.

I take that opportunity to rush to my sister and before Cray can reconsider, pull at her arm to follow me away from the peacekeeper and to the Seam. We don't get but a few feet away before we hear Cray's voice calling, "Little girl!"

I'm frozen in place, too afraid that he's changed his mind, that for whatever reason he decided to side with Prim, it had changed that quickly. Prim is the first to turn around, and I gather the courage to turn with her. Cray's head tilts downward and his brows shoot up with that hard stare not very different than the one he gave Otho. It's a warning how close a call that was, as though he knows Prim really is a witch.

He then holds out the bundle of herbs…no, the flowers… for Prim to take. "Forgot your flowers, little girl," he says before handing them over to her. As soon as they drop in her hand, I can hear a sigh of relief, but I'm not sure if it was from her or me.

* * *

We walk back home, and I can't decide whether to hold her or scold her. My indecision leaves one answer: say nothing until we get home. Prim knows my thoughts. Every time she steals a glance my way but says nothing, I'm sure of it. Prim is the chatterbox in our family, so the silence is not her by nature.

Our mother is pulling down herbs that have been hanging in our kitchen by the time we step through the door of our home, and it isn't until I see her worried expression that I can't control the screaming thoughts in my head from pouring out of my mouth. "What were you thinking?" I yell as soon as I close our door behind me.

Prim's eyes are brimming with tears and that knocks me down few pegs in anger. I never want to hurt her, but all of the fear of what could have happened if Cray hadn't intervened leaves me shaken and rattled. This is why I make the deliveries. I risk my life so that Prim doesn't have to.

"I just wanted to help Emily," Prim manages to tell me and our mother through her hiccups as I watch her tears roll freely down her cheeks. "She's afraid for her father in the mines."

"Little duck," I begin to say, but I don't have the words. I understand how she wants to help her friend, especially a girl worried about her father dying in the mines, but how can I make her understand that when there's a decision between helping a friend and our own survival, there really is no competition? She has such a tender heart that I don't think I would ever have the right words for her to understand that hard truth. And so I do the only thing I can think of: I reach for Prim and pull her into the tightest hug I can without suffocating her.

The vision of my little sister burning alive makes he hold her tighter, but she doesn't fuss. Maybe she understands that much of my fears.

When I can finally let go, I tell her to tend to her goat, Lady, while I make some tea. It's a relief that she leaves without question because it's clear she knows it's a half-truth. As soon as the door closes behind her my mother asks me question after question, and as I answer and tell her what happened in the town center, I'm sure that look of terror on her face mirrors my own.

"Well, at least Cray got there before the accusation was made official," my mother says after blowing out a relieved puff of air.

"Why would Cray help Prim?"

My mother stares at me and chews fiercely at her lower lip. I know this look; I used to get it all of the time when I was younger. It's the look that tells me whatever it is she has to say is not meant for anyone outside of our family, that it's information acquired by a witch's duties. I nod slowly to let her know that it's clear to tell me. "Because he comes here for help like everyone else. He couldn't go to the doctor and have…that…on his record."

I'm not sure what he wouldn't want on his record, and I have no doubt that my expression tells her this loud and clear.

"I know you're aware of Cray's preference," she lets that last word linger for a moment before continuing, "for young girls."

I nod. Everyone knows how he takes advantage of the destitute girls in the Seam desperate for money or even a meal.

"Well, sometimes his activities can make for a very embarrassing doctor's visit."

She's trying to be delicate about it, but I have no idea what my mother is talking about. As if she's said too much, she closes her mouth until her lips are tightly pressed together and leaves the table to heat a kettle of water for tea, remembering and fulfilling the promise I'd made to Prim. I'm not sure exactly what Cray needs from my mother, but apparently it's embarrassing enough for him risk his life by hiding the existence of a found witch. That act alone could earn him a seat next to a burning witch, or a bullet to the head if he's lucky.

* * *

_Walking through the streets, I hold the cloth bag close to my body to keep it as dry from the rain as possible. I try not to look as nervous as I feel, but I have a bag filled with herb sachets, more than enough to get me arrested and burned as a witch. I'm not the witch; my mother is, but I am the one left to deliver the sachets to the people who need them._

_My father used to do it, but he died in a mining explosion almost four months ago. Since it happened, my mother's buried herself in her work, her every waking moment dedicated to creating concoctions for ailments or leading our district in ritual that she rarely has time to distribute her treatments. She has even less time to spend with her daughters. Although, Prim tends to spend more time with her because she's taken an interest in the craft._

_I tell myself that it doesn't matter because I have nothing to say to her. If we were to speak more than a few sentences, I know it will only end with an argument started by me blaming her for my father's death. How it's her fault because everyone knows how dangerous it is to be a miner, and yet she didn't think to give him a protection charm. Even as the cold rain soaks my clothes through, I have my growing anger to keep me warm as I plod through the sodden streets heading for the mayor's house._

_Madge is the one to open the door today, and I'm thankful. It's not that there's anything wrong with her father, Mayor Undersee, but I know Madge. I feel comfortable with Madge under the circumstances. I smile at her after she gives me a warm "Hello," and hand her the first sachet full of dried strawberries._

_She takes the sachet gratefully and presses her nose to it to take a deep whiff. "I can't believe you still have some this time of year," she tells me as I'm reaching out to give her the next sachet. I only see him at my side a moment before he grabs my arm. "Caught you!" Otho says and pulls me to him. I glance at Madge, and her eyes have gone wide and her body rigid._

_"Hey, Madge!" comes a casual voice from down the street. It's the youngest Mellark boy with his blond hair plastered to the sides of his face and his clothes soaking. "I owed you this!" he says while handing the mayor's daughter a wedge of bread filled with fruits and nuts and doesn't seem to notice that Otho's about to arrest me for witchcraft._

_Madge takes the bread absentmindedly, completely confused and not knowing what else to do. Otho ignores him to take the sachet from my hand and starts to open it up when the Mellark boy continues his conversation with Madge. "Hey, you buy the Everdeen herbs as well?" he asks and all eyes turn to him, even Otho's._

_"You buy herbs from this girl?" he asks the Mellark boy carefully, and he gets an enthusiastic nod as a reply. The Mellarks do buy herb sachets and other concoctions from time to time, but I couldn't figure out why he would admit to it until he adds, "We use a lot of the for herbed bread and can't have soups without them."_

_Otho studies the boy while the words slowly sink in. The smug smile of a man who thought he would get the reward and recognition for catching a witch slowly disappears and is replaced by a sour expression of a man who's been outwitted. There is no law against selling herbs for food. I also realize that I no longer have to be afraid when I deliver the sachet because I now have an excuse that's completely plausible. And I have the youngest Mellark boy to thank._

_Otho stalks away, muttering angrily to himself, and it's the first time I can form full, coherent thoughts. The first one is that I owe the Mellark boy a thanks, but I turn and he's already down the street. It doesn't help that I don't know his name and even if I did, my mouth and brain haven't learned how to work together again after what had just happened._

_Fortunately, Madge regains her wits before he's too far down the road. "Thanks, Peeta!"_

_He doesn't turn back, but he simply lifts his hand in the air to acknowledge her before disappearing around the corner. I can't help but stare down the road, even though it's very empty and Peeta Mellark is long gone._

_"Katniss?" Madge calls me but I still watch the street as though I expect the Mellark boy to come back._

"_Katniss_," she calls me again, but it sounds different this time. When she calls my name one more time while shaking my arm, it's not Madge's voice I hear but Prim's.

"Katniss? Are you okay?"

My eyes open to see Prim hovering over me. "You were having a dream. I couldn't tell if it was a nightmare or not."

"It's okay, little duck. I'm okay. Go back to sleep." And she does. Prim flops down beside me and curls her little body to mine. I hold her but can't go back to sleep. I haven't thought about that day when I was eleven in a long time, and Prim's run in with Otho made it all come back clearly.

The night sky is just starting to lighten when I finally slip back to sleep, but Otho isn't my last waking thought. Instead, it's the baker's youngest son, Peeta Mellark.


	3. 3

_This chapter gave me some problems because of the material I had to cover and how I wanted to approach it. Went through several rewrites (the truth is that I don't think I would ever be satisfied with this chapter). Because of this, basic mistakes may have slipped through more than usual. If there's one that's driving you crazy, please PM me and I'll edit it. _

_Although I tried to keep it to a minimum, the material contained in this chapter will be uncomfortable for some. Reader discretion is advised._

* * *

A few weeks since the ritual, and it's been as Prim predicted. The weather steadily warms, and the effects of spring are everywhere. I close my eyes and breathe deeply the heavy green scent of damp wood leaves and listen to the sounds around me with my bowstring taut and ready. I concentrate on the birds singing in the trees, the cries of hawks high above the wooded canopy, and scratching to the side and ahead of me. Gale called it my prayer just before…

Release. When I open my eyes, there's a squirrel nailed to a tree with my arrow through its eye, caught mid-scurry. It's been this way for me since my first lessons with my father, the timing and aim always felt, never calculated.

I tread across the spongy ground to my latest catch, pull the arrow out with one hand and hold the squirrel in the other. It's when I stuff this squirrel in my game bag that I take full notice of the three others already there along with two pigeons. For some reason, I've been hunting a lot of squirrels, and I try not to think about it very much, too afraid of where that line of thought will lead me.

Still, I call it a day and head back to my district to trade in town. All morning in the woods I think of Gale, and the entire walk back doesn't help. We used to do everything together which means everything reminds me of him. Even though I know he still hunts—I've seen Hazelle in her yard skinning and preserving the rabbit and mink pelts—we don't meet up to hunt together anymore. This leaves me with the feeling that he's avoiding me, choosing to hunt when he knows I'm not there. It hurts more than I care to admit, and I resent even more that he had to change our relationship with his feelings for me.

I didn't want them; I didn't ask for them, and now I've lost my friend because of them. I try not to blame him for it, but I can't help it. I want things between us to go back to the way they were, but I know that they can't now.

The Hob is my first stop because it's Sae who gets the pigeons. She eyes the squirrels when I take them out for a moment to sort through the contents of my bag and offers a good trade for them. It's better than I would get from the Mellarks, but for some reason I can't bring myself to sell them to her. We compromise on one squirrel instead of all four.

In town, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark are busy with customers while their eldest son stocks the shelves. Their second oldest takes an empty tray in the back, and I rush to the back door in the hopes that he'll be the one to answer it and not his mother. I try to avoid the woman because it's not a secret she doesn't like people from the Seam, and sometimes I get the feeling that she doesn't like me in particular.

As I run around the back, I have my eyes glued to Mrs. Mellark through the front window for as long as I can see her, but when I turn to look at what's in front of me it's too late. I don't see the youngest Mellark boy at the steps of his door, and we collide. He wobbles a bit but doesn't fall thanks to his sturdy frame. I don't do so well, falling hard with my game bag, and the papers he was carrying are floating to the ground around me. In my periphery, I see that they're not just papers but drawings. Very good drawings. For a moment, I'm tempted to take a closer look at one of them when I see a hand held out to help me up, his hand.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't see you coming."

I feel my body heating, especially my face, and I can't help but stare at his large, outstretched hand or the muscles corded along his forearm that disappear under a shirt hiding a strong, wide chest. No matter how hard I try to shoo away the image, I can't help but think of him weeks ago, wiping the sweat from his bare skin after wrestling in the yard with his brother.

It's been so long without me saying or doing something in response that he pulls his hand back and leans down to start gathering the drawings on the ground.

In that very moment, everything about him strikes me as a beautiful work of art from the way the sun seems to filter through the trees just to make his blond waves shine, to the way he's crouched over, collecting the drawing scattered around. I think these are his drawings, and they look so lifelike, especially one that catches my eye. It's a charcoal drawing of a dandelion just before it goes to seed.

"It's beautiful," I think to myself, but then I realize that I actually said it out loud when he suddenly stops picking up his pictures to look at me. His brows furrow, and his eyes dart from the picture to me, trying to figure something out. The answer to whatever he's looking for must be found in my expression because he smiles at me with a boyish twinkle in his eyes and a wavy lock of hair that dangles haphazardly between them. He is radiant, and it's too much that I feel my face burn and have to look away.

"Thanks. You can have it," he says, picking up the last picture on the ground for me to take, the rest of them are in a small stack tucked underneath his arm. He then hands me my bag, and the sight of it in front of me reminds me of my reason for being here and brings me back to my senses. With a nod of appreciation, I take it before lifting myself up from the ground.

"Thank you," I mutter and start up the steps to his back door when his hand catches me by the shoulder to get my attention. We're face to face, and he's saying something to me that doesn't really sink in because I'm too focused on the blue of his eyes, on the way his lips moves while he speaks, and the scent of cinnamon wafting from him so close. It's not until he turns and climbs the stairs that his words finally filter through my addled brain. "Wait here. I'll go get my dad or brother to trade with you."

I nod because it's all I can do even though it's pointless because he can't see me; he's already inside. I'm by myself with my game bag in one hand and the dandelion drawing in the other, and that's a good thing because with him gone, it seems easier for me to regain my wits. No sooner do I fold and stuff the paper in my pocket that the door opens and the middle Mellark boy greets me.

"Hello, Everdeen. How many today?"

"Three," I say while pulling them out by their tails. He looks at me with a side smirk while taking them from me. For a long time, he stands there appraising them.

"A lot of squirrels this year," he says after a whistle and makes me feel even more self-conscious about what seems to be my strange preoccupation with squirrels during hunts. It's when he adds, "We've had squirrel meat almost every night," that I cringe before my defensiveness kicks in.

"I can't help it if they're plentiful this year," I say without a hint of wavering in my voice, my shoulders are squared and my chin high. "If you don't want 'em, there are others that would be more than happy to—"

The Mellark boy holds up his free hand in surrender. "Not like that! Before you, we didn't have much meat for dinner."

This is a bit of new information for me. I've always thought that the Mellarks, like all merchant families, could afford necessities like meat and that they bought the squirrels because it was a treat for Mr. Mellark. I do know for a fact that he loves the taste, he'd said as much, but now I wonder if they trade with me for easier access to meat. Suddenly, I realize that his comment about having squirrel every night may not have been a criticism, and I regret my response.

"Would your family like other meats?" I ask, and the middle Mellark boy's grin comes back fully. "My dad will have to be the one to talk to you about that," he says then looks back over his shoulder, "but he's busy right now."

I nod, understanding fully that it has something to do with his mother. "Another time," I say, and he nods at me before holding a finger to tell me to wait a minute and disappearing behind the door. I pass the time away watching the pigs in the pen play in the mud created by the rain the night before. When the Mellark boy comes back to the door, I turn and am not prepared for it to be Peeta standing there with a loaf of bread and a small pouch of something else.

"We don't have anymore bread to trade so my dad wanted to know if you'd take these instead."

I open the pouch and there are several bite-sized cookies inside. It's not a practical trade, but it would make Prim happy, so I nod to accept them and the loaf, stuffing it into my game bag and the pouch into my pocket.

He smiles at me, and simple words like "thanks" and "goodbye" are completely lost to me. We stand there for so long that he presses his lips together tightly and looks away because it's become unbearably awkward, and gives up by turning to go inside. I'm not sure why I'm desperate to keep him here with me, but I am, and I blurt out the first thought that pops into my head.

"You were really good during the practice matches!"

He spins around and blinks at me, completely confused by where that came from. Honestly, I can't blame him because I'm just as confused. "Thanks," he says but it comes out more like a question. Instead of just leaving and putting an end to my humiliation, I continue, "I think you may actually beat your brother this time."

He smiles at me again, and if I wasn't sure of it before, I'm am right now that whenever Peeta Mellark smiles at me, I lose all common, rational sense. I can't even look him in the eye. To salvage what's left of my dignity, I wave my hand as a very simple goodbye before turning and practically running home.

* * *

When I get home, my mother and Prim are sitting at our kitchen table covered with herbs, the earliest growing plants of the season, sorting them for drying. I pull out the pouch of cookies from my pocket and place them in front of Prim, giving her a quick kiss on her forehead before taking the bread into the kitchen.

"Katniss, this is wonderful!" I hear my little sister say in the other room, and I smile to myself as I wash my hands. I don't have to see her to picture her gobbling them down, and it makes whatever doubts I had about that trade disappear. Those cookies were well worth the trade if they can make my little sister so happy.

It's when I dry my hands, slice off a piece of bread, and return to the living room that I see Prim's not eating the cookies but staring at a piece of paper with our mother behind her appraising it as well. Even from this distance and angle, I can see the charcoal.

"Who drew this?" my mother asks me because she knows full well that I could never draw that. My last bit of artwork was years ago of me, Prim, my mother and father as stick figures under an orange sun. "Whoever it is would be a great help for The Book," my mother adds. Of course. The Book. With my mother, it's always a matter of witchcraft.

It's Prim's enthusiastic nod that twists my stomach, more so when they wait for me to answer for so long that I realize they won't let this go. I'm not ready to discuss Peeta because of the effect he has on me, but it seems I have no other option when it comes to my family. Finally I mutter quickly, "Peeta Mellark," and my mother's eyes widen.

"The youngest one?"

I nod, trying to make it as casual a response as I can.

Prim and our mother share a look, and Prim nods her head so gently that I'm not sure she actually did it. The next thing I know, my mother crosses the room, pulls The Book, a book that's been in my mother's family for generations, off of the shelf and places the picture inside. I watch her close The Book and return it to the shelf, and I'm about to protest, annoyed that she hadn't even asked me if it was okay to take my drawing, the drawing Peeta gave me.

Except I can't because there's no rational reason why it bothers me so much. Did I intend to carry it around with me all of the time? Why would it mean so much to me? It seems every single thing about Peeta Mellark confuses me, makes me lose my senses, and I don't like it one bit.

* * *

It's late and everyone in my house is sleeping when the peacekeepers come. I always fear these nights because my first thought is that they are coming to burn us all. Not tonight. I'm the one to answer the door when the peacekeepers tell us that every able bodied person must go into town. I see beyond our doorstep that they're swarming throughout the Seam knocking on each door and demanding the same. This can only mean one thing, and so Prim, our mother, and I dress and file out of the house and into town with the rest of the Seam inhabitants and our peacekeeper escorts.

I see Gale far ahead of us in procession of Seam people spilling into town, and he stops across the crowd from us standing with his family around him and his little sister, Posy, in his arms. It's not the first time I've seen him since that day in the woods, there have been several times I've seen him the halls of school, but I can't help but stare, hoping that he will come over to me and be my friend again. He doesn't. He doesn't even look at me.

The large screen, a permanent fixture of the town square, comes to life with light and sound of a Justice building that's similar to ours with the night sky above and two peacekeepers holding a little girl between them on its steps. The girl can't be any older than Prim, and standing in front of them is a man with a microphone to his side, holding a paper and dabbing his brow with a handkerchief continuously.

The camera zooms out to show the town square full of people, and at the front of it is a woman and five children crying. The woman reaches out helplessly and screams out something in anguish, but the microphone doesn't pick up her voice for us to hear.

I don't know what she says, but I don't need to hear her to know what it all means. Whenever there's a special mandatory gathering, it usually means that someone has been convicted of witchcraft and sentenced to death. It means that the girl has been proven a witch by a Panem court, usually an accusation by a person of note is all that's needed as proof, and will be burned to death. The girl's mother begs for her daughter's life, and I feel every sob and scream from the woman as my own.

"Rue Lory, you have been tried and found guilty of witchcraft," the man with the handkerchief, I can only guess is their district's mayor, reads from a prepared speech on the paper. His demeanor is sullen as though he's forced to say the words he really doesn't want to say. Only weeks ago, that could have been Prim by Otho's accusation, and with that thought I no longer see their mayor and Rue standing there on the screen but I see Mayor Undersee and Prim in front of our own Justice building instead. I feel the tears welling in my eyes and try to blink them back, but it only sets one free to fall down my cheek. Once the first falls, it's hard to stop the rest.

I'm lost in the thought, and the only thing to anchor me in reality is Prim's hand slipping in mine to remind me that she's still here with me. Even so, I have the compulsion to look up and to the side of me, and the hairs on my arms and neck raise before I see him. Otho stands behind some merchants, his eyes hard on Prim which leaves me with a stomach in knots.

Peacekeepers in the other district's square part the crowd by aiming their guns in the faces of the people and telling them to move. The people reluctantly do with increasingly resentful faces until there's a path cleared for the peacekeepers holding Rue to drag her down the Justice building's steps and through it.

The camera pans to track their march to the metal post in the center of their square. We have one just like it in the center of ours, but I never gave it any more thought than the occasional fear that I would be tied to it one day for trading my mother's herbal remedies and spells. Since Otho publicly accused Prim of witchcraft, I get a cold chill at the very sight of it, the very reason why I avoid the town square nowadays.

Rue's back is slammed against the post, and her arms are tied around the post behind her. Even faced with her own death, she doesn't cry and her face is unreadable. Even now, in her last moments, she has a resolve that is beyond her years, beyond anything I can understand. Even this way reminds me of Prim again, so fragile in some ways but so strong in others.

I cannot be more right about this when a peacekeeper taps something in his hand and the post ignites, because it's me who turns away, squeezing my eyes shut when the girl screams, not Prim. Prim's eyes are focused on the horror in front of us with a level of detachment that scares me until I realize that it's a different kind of detachment. She's having a vision.

A disturbance on the screen other than the atrocity we're forced to witness catches my attention. As big as life, the crowd sectioned in two halves were already restless, but now they surge to become one again and peacekeepers in the center are suddenly overwhelmed. Even their guns are no match for the sheer number of people, and then we hear it: a cry from one of the people shouting "For Rue!"

The screen immediately goes black and my district is left in our dark town square dumbstruck and looking around for some confirmation of what we just saw. I see Gale again, and his eyes are wild and fiery before they land on me. They burn from something inside him that's been simmering for a long time.

It seems our entire district has these reactions. Some have a wild, angry intensity that seems ready to surge like the other district had done, while others are left with nothing but fear and a strange sense of the loss of a life, even one we've never known.

And in the crowd to my other side, I find a pair of blue eyes staring at me. It's Peeta. He seems as shaken up about everything that's happened on the screen as I am, but his eyes are full of concern. I don't have the time to wonder why he's staring at me with so much concern because the peacekeepers are already dispersing the crowd, ordering us to return to our homes immediately. We're not allowed to linger and discuss what happened.

One very young girl asks her father why did the people do what they were doing, and a peacekeeper raises his gun to the man's head. "No talking!"

The girl starts to cry at the sight of a gun to her father's head, but her father can't console her because his hands are in the air, waiting for whatever peacekeeper will do next: shoot him or let him go. "Take your girl home," he says, lowering his gun slightly so that it's barely aimed at the man's waist, "and no talking."

The man scoops his daughter into his arms and they disappear into the crowd heading for the Seam along with me, my sister, and my mother.

* * *

It wasn't the first witch burning I've seen, there's one at least once a year, but the death of Rue still haunts me days later. Usually, this time of year I'm preoccupied with the upcoming spring celebration, but I don't even think about it until my mother reminds me that we have to prepare for it.

I'm already wound tightly because sometimes when I think of that little girl's death, I see Prim in her place and the reminder of the celebration is what ultimately breaks me. I'm already anxious about the celebration, I am every year for the last three years, but now I worry that it will also lead to my entire family being arrested for witchcraft.

It's Prim that finds me in our bedroom with the threadbare curtains drawn and me crying in the dark room. I didn't want her to see me this way, which is why I didn't give in to the pain and worry until I was sure I had the house to myself. They were supposed to be visiting a patient, Prim and my mother, but she came home to get something she'd forgotten when she found me.

She sits on the edge of the bed and strokes the side of my face gently. "It's going to be great. You'll see," she tells me, believing that I'm only upset over the upcoming spring celebration. I can't explain to her that, yes, I dread it the way I always do this time of year, but it's the death of Rue that's hitting me hard because I fear for Prim more than ever. There's nothing left for me to do but continue to cry until my face feels swollen and hot. Prim leaves the room, and when she returns, she has a bowl of cool water in her hands and a cloth draped over her wrist. It's soothing when she soaks the cloth in the water, wrings it out and rests it on my forehead.

I let her continue to think that my sorrow is only because of the spring celebration. At least that way I wouldn't make my worries hers.

My anxiety over the spring celebration is something that she's very familiar with and grasps that I feel this way, even if she doesn't understand why I feel it. I know Prim, like other girls in our district, would love to be in my situation. I've seen her stare at me with envy like the girls in school around this time of year.

Its supposed to be an honor and great responsibility for the eldest, unmarried daughter of a witch during the celebration held in the meadow. When there were several families of witches in District Twelve, a daughter of one of the families would be chosen as the Spring Daughter, the embodiment of the spirit of spring, a girl transitioning into a woman. At least, this was how it was explained to me by my mother my first year.

In my experience, it just means more attention: boys want and girls envy. Worse for me, my family is the only known witch family left in our district, and because of that, I'm Spring Daughter every year without fail. I have been since I was thirteen and hated every moment of being dressed up and paraded around the meadow for all of District Twelve.

I guess I should count myself lucky because it isn't in front of the entire district, only those in the Seam. Since my mother chose a Seam man as her husband, the merchant folk haven't come to any of the ritual celebrations. From what my mother described of her own experience as the Spring Daughter, Town and Seam crowded together in the meadow until it was so packed that there was hardly any room to breathe let alone walk. I can't imagine a gathering that large.

Although, with the Seam alone, it's still a lot of attention that could possibly get my family killed. It's held under the pretense of a festival, but there's always the possibility of an overzealous peacekeeper like Otho sniffing around for the truth behind it.

Prim continues to stroke the edge of my hairline and hum a song that I sing to her when she has trouble sleeping. I'm still scared and dread the ceremony and what could happen because of it, but I'm so tired from crying that I drift to sleep all the same.


	4. 4

Students of all ages funnel into the gymnasium to watch the final matches that will ultimately decide the district's wrestling champion. The first few matches aren't important by any means because we all know who the two for the final match will be: the same as last year, the two remaining Mellark brothers in school.

Madge saves the seat next to her for me, and as I climb the steps of the bleachers, I'm painfully aware of the eyes on me. Although most, thankfully, try not to stare, limiting themselves to several glances my way, Lissa Runer and her friends shamelessly watch my every step with their tight, jealous faces until I'm seated. There are other girls, Seam and Town, who have the same expression when they look at me. The boys around me are just as interested in what I'm doing, watching my every move carefully but with a hungry fixation, not much different than me when I hunt prey in the winter.

One of them is Gale who sits at the other end of the bleachers with some boys I've seen around the Seam but have never met. They're in some heated discussion that ends when Gale nods his head. No longer distracted, he looks over at me without having to search, as though he already knew exactly where I was to begin with. Caught looking, he turns his head and starts another conversation with his companions.

Even Delly Cartwright and her friends watch me, but they don't have the look of the other girls. Instead, Delly has the widest smile when she says something behind a carefully placed hand to the friend beside her, then her eyes dart across the gymnasium to where the younger students sit. It's Prim she's looking at who, in turn, is looking at me.

My sister tries to give me a comforting smile, but there is nothing comforting about this, about being the Spring Daughter. The only comfort that I have is that there are people here who have no interest in me, that aren't looking at me with jealousy or desire. There's Madge beside me, quiet as a mouse as usual, and the competitors on the floor below.

I try to take some comfort from their disinterest, but even that's not possible when out of the sea of blond hair, Peeta Mellark looks up to scan the audience and stops when he spots me. His expression doesn't change, and after a second or so, he shifts his attention back to his competition and begins to stretch.

Unlike the other boys that look at me, for some reason it doesn't bother me that he did. In fact, I feel my heart beating just a little bit faster and a tingle along the skin of my arms and down my spine with the slightest flutter in my stomach. Even my breathing is a little shallow. Although, perhaps not a little because Madge turns to me and asks, "Katniss, are you okay?"

I nod my head and give her a slight smile while consciously trying to take longer breaths before we both return our focus to the floor below.

Four boys are paired for their matches. Neither are Mellarks, but they are all blond nonetheless. There isn't a dark haired boy among them because there aren't any Seam boys competing this year. Most aren't strong enough to stand up to the well fed children of merchants families, but there's usually at least one plucky fighter to make it this far. One year that I can remember, there were even two.

The two boys that emerge the winners of their matches are each assigned their own Mellark to fight in the next match. Peeta's brother ends his match quickly, but Peeta doesn't have such luck. His opponent is struggling for all he's worth, desperate for a position higher than third place, but in the end, it's Peeta who wins. In the end, it's always Peeta.

The two Mellark boys take their places for the final match. Peeta's skin is flushed and covered in sweat while his brother seems as fresh as rain. The two circle each other for a few seconds before they collide, and neither one is unbalanced by the sheer force. They're both locked in a push-pull for dominance.

Peeta's struggling to stay upright thanks to his exhaustion; it's obvious in the way his face is scrunched and his muscles shake. He tries several times to get his brother down on the mat, but nothing works. It's when his brother takes a step forward and to the side, shifting his weight, that causes Peeta to lose what little stability he has left and fall to the mat. The instant he hits the floor, his brother has him pinned. I start to count as the referee kneels low to makes sure his shoulders are down and undoubtedly counts the seconds as well. Before I can count to two, Peeta's shoulder is off of the mat and he manages to free himself from his brother with slumped shoulders and panting hard.

They collide again, and this time Peeta goes down with his brother pinning him for the second time. The referee drops low again and I begin the count. By the time I reach two, I can't breathe. The world around me slows until it's almost as though no one is moving but me. I'm panting, a hundred times faster than Peeta had been.

I'm not sure where it comes from, but there's a breeze that sweeps through the gym and over my skin causing me to shiver uncontrollably when the world speeds up to normal. At the same time, Peeta pushes his brother off of him with an almost explosive resurgence of energy just before the ref could call it with his whistle. This disorients the other Mellark long enough for Peeta to pin him for three seconds and claim the title of first place.

Madge, along with half of everyone else around us, is cheering and clapping which allows me to discretely blink my eyes and collect my thoughts. When I do, I have the strangest urge to look across the gymnasium only to find a pair of wide, blue eyes focused on me. Prim's chest is heaving and she mouths something I barely make out: "You?"

* * *

Prim says nothing to me during our walk home, and I prefer it that way. The idea of me having anything to do with Peeta Mellark's victory is absurd, but for some reason, I don't want to have the conversation to tell her so.

We arrive home, and don't say much more than to announce our arrival to our mother. It doesn't matter much because she leaves the house only a minute later with a small, brown bottle of something in her hand. I can trust her to be discrete, or rather, I hope I can enough that she won't get our family burned alive.

We're halfway through our homework when there's a knock at our door. Prim opens it to see none other than Delly standing there with her hair tied into a messy bun hidden under a hooded sweater. She did try but none of that could make her round apple cheeks and fine clothes and shoes blend into the Seam.

"Hello," she tries to say calmly but her voice cracks as her eyes dart from side to side.

"Come in," Prim tells her while taking her hand all before I can protest, as I'm sure my sister knows I would have.

The girl from town has her head bowed low, but then looks up shyly and says, "I'm sorry to bother you."

"No bother," Prim says immediately, also knowing that I wouldn't have had the same response. "What do you need?"

"It's almost…the time of year…and…"

I roll my eyes. Of course. Even sweet Delly Cartwright wants what all of the other girls want. With the festival comes the hope of spring love. And who wouldn't want a good spell to help things along? "Not me," I quietly answer my own question.

"I have just the thing," Prim smiles at her while patting the girl's hand, and the nervous girl relaxes immediately. That's one of Prim's many gifts. "This is what you do…" she begins, and I mouth the spell as I know it is written in the book.

_One flower around one stone_, I say to myself quietly as Prim tells Delly, "Take a flower from your garden or the meadow, and take a stone that lays in your path and wrap the flower around it."

_Whisper to it when I'm alone_  
"When there's no one around you, whisper to it…" Prim says.

_the true heart of my future love_  
"…the ideal traits you want your love to have…"

_Only that which I prize above_  
"…all that really sets him apart from anyone else." As Prim tells Delly to bury it in the garden or meadow, I mouth the rest of the words in the spell.

_all else, calling forth 'til we are one._  
_As I will it, so will it be done._

Delly smiles brightly before pulling Prim into a warm hug and then hands her a pouch. Prim looks inside and gives a smile to match Delly's. "It's wonderful! Thank you." Prim says but then asks, "Will we see you at the festival?"

This causes Delly's bright smile to falter. "Could I?" she asks nervously, unable to look Prim in the eye, now.

"Of course," Prim says as though there would be nothing to stop her, as though people from town weren't as unwelcome in the Seam as Seam people in town. "Besides," Prim adds enticingly, "you don't want to miss the ribbon game!"

The smile on Delly's face returns and then some. I wouldn't have thought it possible for Delly to look happier, but leave it to Prim to find a way. Delly nods enthusiastically and spins around to the door, but before she opens it to leave, she gives me a wave goodbye. For the second time, her smile falters when she notices the irritation that must be written across my face, but being Delly, she quickly recovers and leaves just as happy as she was after talking to Prim.

I roll my eyes at the door and look at my sister who is appraising me carefully. I don't like the way she's looking at me. It's the same way she looked at me during the walk home. I quickly take a seat at the table and get back to my school reading. If I'm going to be the object of her scrutiny, I might as well get my schoolwork done also. There's a particular section of my textbook that fascinates me, at least I hope I'm convincing enough for her to think so.

* * *

Prim twines what I hope is the last flower to the crown she fastens securely at the top of my head with its tendrils of green ribbon spiraling down my back. The contrast of the orange dandelion flowers and bright green stems against the brown of my hair and skin is striking, and I'm sure it's the effect she was hoping for. In past years, she decorated me with white daisies, but this year all she could tell me was that the dandelions called to her.

"My best work yet, Katniss," she says while taking a step back to assess her work before handing me the only mirror we own. Even I have to admit that my little sister is a wonder at this. My Seam brown hair doesn't look so ordinary. And the combination of herbs used to stain my eyelids a rich brown make my commonplace Seam grey eyes stand out. Even my lips are stained with berry juice that makes them look plumper.

There is nothing ordinary about the way I look, and this makes my stomach twist even more. This isn't me. The beautiful woman in the mirror isn't me, but that's what will be on display in the meadow for everyone to look at and wish for or wish to be.

The worst is yet to come when I turn to find Prim holding out the dress I'm to wear at the celebration, the one I've worn every year before. It's been worn by the Spring Daughters of my mother's family for generations, and I hate it with its lace bodice and ribboned waistline. My mother says that it was once white, which never stood a chance against time and coal dust.

I hold up my arms and let Prim slip the dress over my head. I say nothing while Prim flattens the ribbon against my lower ribs and ties it in the back or when she helps me slide my slippers on my feet. I still say nothing as I follow her out of the bedroom we share to see my mother standing there staring with glistening eyes and lips that aren't sure whether to smile or open up for bawling. The fingers of her hands are intertwined and held up to her lips, helping her hold it together enough to finally settle on a smile.

More than anything I wish I didn't have to do this, but the way my mother's looking at me, as though she's witnessing something spectacular, leaves me conflicted. I don't want this attention, but I have to admit to myself that some deeply buried part of me doesn't mind my mother's attention. Especially since, I think, it's the first time she's really seeing me and not the symbol of the ceremony.

We stand there for a long moment before Prim tugs gently on my sleeve and tips her head towards the door. By the time we make it to the meadow, it's packed with people from the Seam. No one from town comes anymore since my mother left for a Seam man, and Delly is no where in sight.

The crowd parts to create a path for us, leading to the swing that dangles from a large, old oak. The thing has to be the oldest tree in the district as big as its trunks are.

I have trouble breathing with so many eyes on me at once. Young and old, it doesn't matter. I'm the center of their attention until my mother arrives to officially mark the beginning of the festival. People mingle and dance and eat berries and the crackers my mother and sister baked from the pigweed seeds, all collected from the woods. I'm sure for many in the Seam, this is the first night in many months that they will go to sleep with full bellies.

By the time the sun hovers along the mountains in the west, my mother calls Prim and everyone stops whatever it is that they are doing because they know what it means: the ribbon game.

My mother immediately blindfolds my little sister while everyone watches without a sound. It never ceases to amaze me just how so many people can be so quiet and for so long. When it's clear that my little sister cannot see, my mother hands her the fistful of ribbons and sends her on her way as the people around us clap. The energy is so high that I can't help but clap along as well.

At first, Prim takes tentative steps forward, trying to adjust to the darkness, but then she becomes more and more secure in her footing with each ribbon she hands out.

Everyone continues to clap in time which sets the rhythm for Prim to do her work. She separates one ribbon from the bunch and holds it up high above her head before taking those tentative steps in yet another direction. It's uncanny how she can find them, weaving through bodies to hand out ribbons. I've heard people wonder if her blindfold didn't cover her vision completely, but my mother is the one who ties it, and I know for sure she would never cheat when she believes so much in Prim's ability.

Suddenly, Prim stops in front of Thom Richardson and holds out her hand with the dangling ribbon, expecting the person in front of her to take it. There's always a person in front of her because Prim never misses her mark in this game.

Thom takes the ribbon and studies the bright, golden silk with laced edges. No Seam girl could ever afford such a thing, and so he looks around completely confused before shoving it into his pocket with a shrug because there's no girl to come forward and claim the ribbon. This time, there will be no kiss for everyone to whoop and holler at.

Prim has already moved on to the next ribbon that's held high in the air as the clapping continues. It's an old tattered thing that can barely be called blue it's so faded. This one is handed to Rory Hawthorne, and somewhere in the crowd a girl squeals with delight before she rushes at him with such force that the two tumble down to the ground to the laughter of everyone else.

The ribbons are handed out one by one. This year, even Gale is handed a ribbon of soft pink silk. Again, this is in such fine quality and condition that I have to wonder how a Seam girl could afford it. Everyone thought it was funny the way he tried to step out of Prim's way to avoid being picked for it, but each time he sidestepped, she followed. No matter where he tried to go, Prim was there to find him with the fancy ribbon held out for him to take.

He didn't want it; I could see it clearly in his tight shoulders and hard scowl. He was hoping for my ribbon, but my ribbon's never been given and the way I feel about marriage and children and passing on the troubles of a witch family, I hope that it never will. Unfortunately, I don't have a say in whether it is added to the bundle—as Spring Daughter, it must be added—still, I've been safe so far.

It's my luck that the next ribbon Prim plucks from her bundle is mine as soon as Gales gives up and takes the pink one. The mottled light and dark green material waves in the air like a flag as Prim walks deep into the crowd that parts for her until three blond children are revealed, leaning against a tree with lightning damage near it's top: Madge, Delly, and…

Prim thrusts her hand forward right in front of Peeta Mellark, offering him the green ribbon. All I can hear is my breathing, and I realize it's because the clapping has stopped. No one says a word, no one moves as Peeta takes the ribbon from Prim with some hesitation, as though he were being forced to touch fire.

"There! That's the last one," Prim says while pulling off her blindfold, and immediately she notices the stunned faces around her. She turns back to what's in front of her and stops all movement; she must see the green ribbon in Peeta's hand now because she doesn't move for what seems like eternity before she turns back towards me with a look of confusion. "Katniss?"

At this point in the festival the previous years, there would have been a wave of disappointed groans from the ribbon owners left without a match, but this year there is no sound at all. The meadow is as silent as the graveyard. All anyone can do is stare, dumbfounded, including me.

I never wanted my ribbon to be given to anyone, and for three years it hasn't. I assumed it would always be that way, but when I see Prim's confusion, Peeta's look of helplessness, and the anger darkening Gale's gray eyes, I feel constricted by the ribbon tied at my ribcage and trapped in the crowd of people with their eyes on me. A swell of panic washes over me, and I look to my mother for some sort of help, some guidance in all of this, but as I should have known, she's arranging candles without a glance my way.

It's too much, and all I want is to put distance between me and the festival, so I turn, hitch up the bottom edges of my dress, and push my way through the people until I'm as far away from them as I can get.

* * *

_A word to all readers. When I write, there's always the one scene that was the inspiration for the entire story. This chapter, the festival in particular, is that scene for this story, so I wonder how well I did. Of all of the chapters, I really ask for everyone's feedback on this. Did I get the mood right or did it come across as flat? If you're feeling shy, you can PM me too. Thanks!_


	5. 5

_This new chapter is a bonus. My muse has been on fire the last few days, and I'm going to milk it for all it's worth because I know the drought is coming. Enjoy for now!_

* * *

The only place I can think to find the solitude and peace I'm looking for is the old house deep in the woods. I sit near the ruins of what was once a stone fireplace and draw my knees up just a little as I take the crown off of my head. The green ribbons that spiral down, exactly like the one given to Peeta, taunt me.

I shouldn't have left the festival the way I did, but I couldn't stay. It wasn't as though I could remain silent and hide in obscurity like any other girl who didn't want to claim her ribbon. Everyone knew the owner was me; there was no doubt about that.

To be given the Spring Daughter's ribbon is an honor, to have a Spring Daughter refuse you is just as much of an insult, but since I'm the Spring Daughter it's not so clear cut. Even to the people from town there is still some distinction, some honor to be chosen—I'm almost sure of this by the hungry looks of the merchant sons when they look at me—but the prospect of a relationship with a Seam girl is another matter.

I can only hope that he sees it this way, that me publicly refusing to claim my ribbon from him is a blessing. I convince myself that by running away, I actually saved him from an awkward moment. To save face among the other merchant families, he would have had to deny the Spring Daughter. Everyone from the Seam would hate him, those from town would forgive and understand, and all of the increased tension and resentment between the two would have him in the middle.

A stray thought crosses my mind, and I dismiss it just as quickly because I don't want to think that I may have hurt his feelings in all of this. There's no way that Peeta Mellark would have any feelings for a Seam girl with charcoal gray eyes and dark brown hair to hurt.

There's some rustling outside of the house that pulls my thoughts away from Peeta, and a I look up to see Gale standing in the doorway. At first, he doesn't move but just looks at me. It's only now that I remember I'm still in my flowing Spring Daughter dress. I lay the crown beside me and draw my knees closer to rest the side of my face on them, staring at him.

"Hey, Catnip," he finally speaks, taking tentative steps as though I'm some skittish deer. I guess after my display at the festival, he's not far off. I feel the prickle at my eyes and struggle with the tears welling to keep them in place. I don't answer him but blink over and over to hold the moisture at bay. He doesn't say a word as he crosses to my side of the room and takes a seat next to me with a heavy sigh.

"Did they leave?" I manage to ask him, but my voice cracks, and I realize right then and there that I can't trust myself. I wanted to make it seem as though I were either asking about the three merchant kids or the festival as a whole, but what I really wanted to know was Peeta's reaction. With pursed lip, his eyes sweep around the room before sighing and closing his eyes.

It can't be more obvious that Gale sees right through me. "Yeah, he left."

We sit in silence for a long while after. It's not until I've given up the idea of any more conversations with my friend that he says, "You didn't claim the ribbon." I can hear the hope in his voice, even as he adds, "Mine wasn't claimed either."

"Gale…" I start to say, lifting my head to fully look at him, but before I can say anything more, his body is fully turned to me and one of his hands is on my knee where my head had rested a minute before. His other hand cups my face as he tries to trap my eyes to his.

"Prim's predictions aren't set in stone," he tells me, which is funny because for years this is the opposite of what he's always said. "We can choose our own destiny."

I lay my hands on his where they're placed, but he's quick and catches them, takes hold of them. I'm startled by the tight grip he has on me and the wild look in his eyes. "I'm serious, Catnip. We can take charge of our own lives. It's one of the reasons why I joined the rebellion.

Since the death of that little girl in District Eleven—I think her name was Rue—there's been rumors of a small rebellion in that district. I think we even witnessed the start of it during the poor girl's broadcasted death. The idea of the rebellion spreading to our district terrorizes me because it could mean the wrath of Panem crashing down on our heads. And for so many years, it's been witch families, families like mine, who've borne the brunt of Panem's wrath.

* * *

Prim stares at herself in the mirror that's hanging from a nail on the wall while she knots the top of her hair, tying a ribbon around it to secure it. My breath catches in my throat when I see it's color and design.

It's not my intention to be so rough when I snatch it from her hair to get a better look. "Why do you have this?"

Prim looks at me with a fire in her eyes that I've never seen before. She narrows them before snatching the ribbon from me and turning back to the mirror to restyle the knot I pulled out of shape.

"It's mine. Why shouldn't I have it?"

I'm still not thinking clearly and grab my little sister by the arm, spinning her to face me. It's not until her eyes drop down to where I'm holding her that I see how tight my grip is. I release her, but I hold out my hand with the expectation that she hand me that ribbon. Reluctantly she does, and I take a closer look. There's no denying that this is the gold, lacy ribbon that was given to Thom. I look at my sister again and can feel my brows furrow deep and my chest heave for every breath.

Prim's not sure what to make of my behavior, but then her eyes widen in horror. "It was Delly Cartwright's payment to me for the love spell," she says quickly. "I didn't steal it. I swear!"

How could Thom get her ribbon? He's six years older than my sister. I search Prim for any sign that would force me to put an arrow in Gale's friend, but in her eyes, I see nothing hidden from me.

My body relaxes slightly, allowing her to relax a little as well. "Give me the rest of what you have," I tell her as I hold out my hand again. She goes into our room and returns with a spool of the expensive ribbon.

"We'll save it for a special occasion," I say. She gives me a questioning look before accepting that that is the way it's going to be and turning back to the mirror. I don't dare move until she's out the door to meet with her friends.

I hold the ribbon in my hand and try to remember all of the lore my mother's told us over the years about the ribbon game. One by one I recall bits and pieces. How it chooses a perfect match, something my mother called soulmates. It's not always immediate; my mother said it could take years, but it is fairly accurate with Prim's magick.

It could take years, I remind myself before stuffing the spool and cut ribbon into my game bag and heading out to the woods. I'm walking quickly, desperate to hide the ribbon from everyone, including Prim, I can't help but think of Peeta and remember the glimpse I got of him holding my ribbon before I ran away.

_It chooses a perfect match._

I don't stop walking until I'm at the house in the woods where I place the ribbon on what's left of the mantle over the dilapidated fireplace. It's that moment, while looking at the ribbon, that I think of Gale's words, that I can choose my own destiny. When I leave the house to hunt, I choose not to hunt any squirrels, even though they seem to be everywhere I point my arrow.

* * *

I'm successful avoiding squirrels, and am actually lucky that I caught a goose in mid flight. A goose would bring a decent price from Rooba, the butcher. I also have a pigeon, and a raccoon that tried to steal a hare from one of Gale's snares. I should remind him to thank me next time I see him.

The thought brings a smile to my face because we've been speaking again. It's a small step, but it's a step closer to getting my best friend back.

I'm in town first because I don't dare take my goose into the Hob. Negotiations can become aggressive when there's rich fat and succulent meat involved, and that's all I need is a stolen or torn bird to show for my efforts.

I'm on my way to the butcher's when I hear my name called a few shops down. It's Mr. Mellark standing on the porch of his bakery calling for me. When I look up at him, he waves his hand, telling me to come over. My first thought is to keep walking, to ignore him and make my way past until I'm safely inside the butcher's shop, but I can't. Mr. Mellark has been nothing but kind to me over the years, so I could never treat him that way.

I slowly make my way over and when I get close, he nudges his head to signal me to the back of the bakery. I pass by the storefront and see Mrs. Mellark standing there with her eyes fixed on me. They follow me until I'm completely out of sight of the storefront windows, and I can only hope she doesn't decide to rush to the back to make a scene.

Mr. Mellark's standing there without his wife, to my relief, and waits for me to get closer. The dread rises up my chest and up my throat as I try to think of legitimate reasons why I would insult his son the way I did at the Spring Festival.

"My son tells me," he begins and I feel my stomach twisting and I can only close me eyes and try not to vomit on the baker's back steps, "you're willing to part with more than squirrels."

My eyes snap open and I focus on the man in front of me. "Squirrels?"

"More than squirrels…" he corrects as though he's waiting for me to understand his words, giving me a funny look.

It takes a moment for it all to sink in, that he's not going to talk to me about the festival or that he may not even know about it. "Y-yes," I stutter out clumsily, still trying to switch my thoughts over. "Yes!" I say when I fully realize that this conversation is nothing more than a trade, something I can wrap my brain around.

"I have pigeon and raccoon. I also have a goose, but that's for Rooba."

Mr. Mellark rubs his chin in thought before glancing down the street. "Haven't heard, I take it?"

I guess my blank look must give him his answer because he doesn't wait much longer to finish. "Rooba's been sick with a cold. She can't work when she's sick, no one would want to buy contaminated meat at those prices so she usually doesn't even bother to open her shop."

When I look a couple of shops down to Rooba's storefront, my heart sinks. There is no open sign and there aren't any customers around. I look back at Mr. Mellark who gives me a gentle smile. "Don't worry about it, Katniss. I'll give you a fair trade for it."

I nod and take a step closer before I pull the goose slightly out of the bag, just enough for Mr. Mellark to appraise the bird's size and condition but out of sight from anyone else passing by. "How does three freshly baked wheat loaves and a fruit 'n nut bread sound to you?" he asks me and my jaw drops. The cost of those items is more than Rooba would have given me. I nod to accept the offer quickly before he can rethink it.

Discretely, he wraps a sheet of burlap around the bird before telling me he'll be right back and disappearing behind his back door. I wait patiently, staring off at the Mellark's apple tree that's practically covered in blossom. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, taking the time to appreciate the sweet scent when the door opens. I turn but don't expect to see the middle Mellark son standing there. He's as surprised to see me in front of him, but it only lasts for a few seconds before a casual grin slides across his face.

"So," he says, stretching out the word uncomfortably until I think he has nothing more to say until he does. "The big news in town is that my brother got a ribbon last night." I really wish he didn't have anything to say. Standing there mute, frozen and staring is all I'm capable of doing.

"Without an Everdeen in my corner," he says to me just as I see over his shoulder Peeta passing by. His brother's words and who he's talking to finally sink in and he freezes in his spot. "It's no surprise I didn't get first place in wrestl—" his brother continues but is abruptly cut off by the hard landing he makes to the floor thanks to Peeta pulling him by the back of his collar. All I see next is the pained smile Peeta gives me just before the door slams shut.

I can hear the two brothers arguing inside, and all I can think of is that I don't want to talk to any Mellark about ribbons and spring festivals, so I walk away. I can come back for the loaves before I head home.

I'm halfway to the Hob when I feel a hand on my shoulder and heavy breathing behind me. It's Peeta standing there out of breath leaning forward with one hand resting on his thigh and the other holding out a burlap sack. "Here…are…your…four…" he wheezes then finishes, "loaves."

He's flushed from running halfway across town to give me my bread, and I can't think of anything but how blue his eyes are, or how adorable it is the way strands of blond hair cling to his face from the perspiration just starting to bead. When I don't take the sack immediately, he shakes it again while taking deep breaths.

By the time I can do more than stand there staring, I take the sack. "I'm sorry for my brother," he says with heavy breaths after we do nothing but stand there looking at anything but each other.

"I'm sorry that you got my ribbon," I tell him as well. He raises his head and levels his eyes to mine, but I can't place the look on his face. I don't spend the time to try and figure it out, though. I'm already back on my way to the Hob.

* * *

Prim and I walk to school, but there's a different kind of energy in town this morning that leaves me feeling on edge. Merchants look around nervously, people aren't talking, and most from the Seam have their heads down. It's not until we're close to the school, passing by the peacekeepers' barracks, that I see what's caused this change.

The barracks has what I think is blood, at first, but then I recognize as red paint splattered all over it's walls. The only wall that isn't has a crude image of an encircled bird in flight instead. Not once in my life have I ever seen or heard of the barracks being vandalized like this, or at all. That alone leaves me scared. My only thought is one word: rebellion.

* * *

_._

_I have to address something of the Prim/Thom thing. I'm not going to have a 12 and 18 year old get together. No. That's not going to happen. I'm serious about this. What's going on with Prim will be explained in a future chapter. Other than that, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Reviews and PM's are always welcome and very much appreciated._


	6. 6

_**Note**: To all those who've read this chapter before, I just reread it and noticed a not so insignificant mistake. After edits, a section was removed that shouldn't have been which leaves it very confusing. I've fixed it: last section about the wine. Sorry about that._

_So should I start calling it the "muse on fire" because I'm not sure what's going on here. This is a bit strange for me to have this many chapters come out so quickly. My usual chapter turn out rate is 2 wks or more unless I have them written already and am sitting on them for editing. Maybe it's all of the positive feedback, maybe the stars are aligned just so. Whatever it is, I hope you guys enjoy because I'm not sure what to make of it, and it's giving me this nagging fear that I'm cranking out crap chapters or something. I really hope not, though._

* * *

Madge and I sit quietly together for lunch, but this is our way. What's unusual is how quiet it is around us because no one is speaking. Peacekeepers roam the cafeteria with guns at their sides. We're told that this is for our protection, but I'm not so sure about that. I get the feeling that they are here to listen and watch for signs of rebels.

They're scattered in the Hob, too, as well as in town and in the Seam. I've even heard rumors of them near the mines, wandering around the main offices and ground-level equipment with their watchful eyes and listening to everything we say.

The vandalism a couple of weeks ago has changed something between the people of the district and the peacekeepers. Not even friendly, outgoing Darius has been seen in the Hob since.

Otho hasn't been seen or heard from in over a week either, but I can't let myself feel any kind of joy or relief because there's something brewing, and I fear that it's trouble for my family.

I push those thoughts out of my mind and look up to see Madge staring at the other side of the cafeteria. It's a table full of boys sitting with Gale, the same boys he sat with in the gymnasium, and they all have there heads down and their eyes focused on their food. One looks up, his eyes shifting from one peacekeeper to the other before Gale whispers something that makes him lower his head again.

It's not just the group she's looking at. Following Madge's line of sight leads me directly to Gale, and I'm reminded of the ribbon he was given during the spring festival, the very expensive looking ribbon that practically no Seam girl could afford. That thought almost leads me to remember my sister's ribbon, but I don't allow it time to settle in my thoughts. I push it away in favor of the memory of the soft, pink ribbon that Gale didn't want to accept. Madge wears soft pink during official district celebrations.

Gale looks in our direction and Madge snaps her head forward, only to be caught by another pair of Seam gray eyes: mine. "Gale got your ribbon at the festival?" I ask, but it's not really a question. I'm not sure how I didn't see it before. She's always had him somewhere in her sights, but I always assumed it was because he was my friend.

For a long moment she doesn't say anything, but then she ignores me by looking at her food and sighs before offering me the untouched portion of her lunch. "I can't eat another bite. You want this?"

I wish I had the resolve and pride to say no, but it looks so delicious that I can't help myself and nod before I slide it over to my side. I'm halfway through the flaky pastry with its chunks of creamy cheese melted into the bun before Madge says with a lifted brow, "Peeta baked them this morning."

My mouth has gone completely dry, and I have trouble swallowing the mouthful that I have. She didn't ignore me, but Madge did make her point as clear as any words could have. Nothing more need be said with our unspoken agreement: so long as I don't mention Gale, she won't mention Peeta.

Now that that's settled, Madge leans forward to rest her head in her hand, balanced on the table by her elbow and her thin sweater opens just enough for me to catch the barest glint of gold. It's a pendant with a circle, and inside the circle is a golden bird in flight. It's the same symbol as the one I saw drawn in red paint on the walls of the barracks. My eyes widen before I can stop myself, and Madge follows my eyes. Quickly, she closes her sweater but doesn't say anything. Neither do I.

* * *

It's taken some time but I've finally scraped together enough money to pick up my new pair of boots. I step inside the shoemaker's shop to find Delly on her elbows with her chin in her hands, staring off through one of the store's windows with a goofy grin. When she happens to snap out of whatever world she was in and sees me, she perks immediately. "Katniss!" she squeals as though we are best friends and she hasn't seen me in such a long time. A long time ago being in class...yesterday.

"Hello, Delly," I say in my typical tone that I hope will let her know how much I don't want any conversation other than what's necessary to buy my shoes. When she turns to search the cubby shelves in back of her and says, "Ah, here we go," I think it actually worked.

She then adds, "Did you know that Fran Runer and Fos Cambeck are getting married?" and I know that it didn't. It's then that Delly continues to speak without so much as a breath from what I can tell. "They say they're going to ask your mother and sister to be there for the toasting. Isn't that wonderful? I told everyone how much fun and exciting the festival was with the food and the people and the ribbons."

At that, I close my eyes and take a breath. It's clear where the "news in town" came from. I know she meant no harm by it, which is why I try not to lose my temper but I'm quickly losing the battle as unkind words almost slip past my tongue. Fortunately for both of us, they don't make it because what Delly has to say next renders me mute.

"When I told everyone that the festival was a thrill a minute with lots of surprises, you know, like your…the ribbon given to Peeta, everyone was so intrigued. I mean, how much more exciting can it be when Peeta gets the ribbon of the Spring Daughter? He was so happy, and then you had to leave. It's a shame, but of course you had other responsibilities as the Spring Daughter; we all know that."

Leave it to Delly. Somehow, she managed to make it all seem as though everything was fine with what had happened. Peeta was happy to get my ribbon. I had to leave because of all the responsibilities of being the Spring Daughter, as if there were any other than sitting there and having everyone stare at you. I know my jaw is slack and hanging and my brows are raised in absolute awe of Delly's ability to spin an awful and embarrassing situation into something of a delightfully romantic event.

"I've said for years that all of their silly fears were unfounded, and now those silly fears just melted away," she flutters her fingers as she says it, but then something in back of me catches her eye. Suddenly, she's leaning over the counter to whisper to me. The change in her behavior has me curious enough to lean forward to hear what she has to say.

"By the way, Katniss, the spell worked. Better than I could have dreamed!" she manages to say before the door to the shop opens.

"Everdeen," I hear someone say behind me, and it's the last person I want to see. It's the middle Mellark son, "Long time, no see." The Mellark boy walks over to the counter, leans forward and gives Delly a kiss on her lips, without a care that I'm standing right next to him. He then caresses his finger over her cheek and gives her a soft, shy smile. Of all of the Mellark boys, this is not the one I associate with a shy smile.

Delly somehow pries herself from their little bubble of intimacy to clear her throat and look at me with bright pink cheeks and a shy smile of her own to tell me the price of my shoes. It's nowhere close to the amount her father told me. In fact, it's offensively low.

"I did the work. The price is for materials. You Everdeens are worth your weight in gold."

Delly doesn't give me time to argue or even thank her because she's hanging over the counter and pulling at her Mellark's shirt to bring him in for another kiss. This time, the kiss isn't as gentle or sweet. I look anywhere but in their direction, drop the money on the counter, and rush out of the shop with my boots tucked under one arm.

I spend the entire walk home thinking about Delly and the spell, and there's something that's gnawing at me. It's not quite a memory but more like a feeling, a half-thought of a forgotten memory. As soon as I'm home, I leave my new boots on the front porch and rush into the garden. Starting from my left, I walk around the fence until I'm at the seventh post and start to dig with my bare hands. It doesn't take long for me to find it: a stone no bigger than a robin's egg.

It's only now, seeing the stone in my hand, that I can remember perfectly the day I buried it. It was the evening my father came home from work with his hands cracked and bleeding. He told my mother that he couldn't find his gloves, but I know it was more likely that someone stole them.

Mining gear has always been expensive and so many times people from the Seam can't afford them. The desperate resort to stealing.

My mother filled a bowl with warm water and a few drops of a of a tincture I've seen her use with other miners that came to her for the very same reason before instructing my father to soak his rinsed hands into it. I winced when my father hissed as his raw wounds touched the water, but then I was able to relax when a smile spread across his face and he sighed in relief.

There was so much I wanted to tell my father about my day, but my mother told me to go to the garden to get herbs for dinner before Prim woke up from her nap. I took the cloth sling from the hook, and the last thing I saw before I left the house was my mother pulling his hands out of the bowl and patting them dry.

The herbs were plentiful enough that I didn't have to snip with shears but I could pinch off easily, so I was able to make quick work of it and was back to the house in under a minute. "Don't," I heard my mother say just as I was passing the front window. It was a strange tone for my mother to have with my father, so firm and commanding, so I peeked through the window. My mother held his hands while my father had such a pained look on his face that it broke my heart, even though I had no idea why. Neither said a word for so long, and then my mother raised my father's hand to her cheek which he only pulled away from her gently.

"My hands are too calloused and rough," he told her, but my mother shook her head and brought both of his hands to her lips to kiss. "Never too calloused, never too rough. To me, your hands are full of life, and full of love, always. Please don't keep them from me." My mother nuzzled her face into his hands, and I saw a tear roll down her cheek. Even at eight years old, I understood that their moment wasn't for me, so I turned and walked back to the garden.

I wasn't sure how much time to give them, but I was too preoccupied with thoughts of how much they loved each other and how happy their love made me feel. It was then that I realized that I wanted that kind of love.

My mother taught me to read much earlier than the other children in the district, using the Book as a reader to learn words. One of the spells during these lessons came to my mind right away.

I found the stone at my foot and a dandelion right next to it. I circled the garden fence and stopped at the seventh post because I was seven years old. It made so much sense to me at the time. I dug my hole and followed the directions, wrapping the flower stem around the stone while I sang the words.

One flower around one stone,  
Whisper when I'm alone.  
The true heart of my love  
Only what I prize above  
all else, all others shunned,  
calling forth until we are one.

I gave a good glance around to make sure there was no one around me and whispered to it, "I want the same as what mommy and daddy have. I want him to be strong, and I want him to be kind." I was ready to drop the stone into the hole but then brought it back to my lips to add, "And I want him to have hands of life and love."

I kissed the dandelion petals against the stone before I put both into the ground and covered it. Years, the death of my father, and the resentment of my mother made me forget all about it a long time ago.

The flower is gone now, decayed back into the earth, and I let the stone roll off my hand on onto the ground. It was a childish wish and I don't want it anymore. None of it. Love died years ago, and I wonder what my mother would say if someone were to ask her if it was worth it after giving up her family, her life as a merchant's daughter for a love that only lasted for a few years.

I turn my back on the garden and the stone the size of a robin's egg and take my boots inside the house. Now, if only I could stop thinking about Peeta so easily.

* * *

We're in the home above the fabric shop, the Cambeck home, for the toasting of Fran Runer and Fos Cambeck. It's modest by merchant standards and I don't feel so uncomfortable until I take a look around me and notice that I'm the only dark haired, gray eyed person in the room. My mother and sister fit right in with all of the blond heads and blue eyes of various shades standing around.

It's the one pair of blue eyes that I notice more than any other, that I can't help but to sneak a glance at many times. Peeta is standing across the room from me beside his two brothers, his parents, and Delly who is cuddled into the arms of her Mellark with glistening eyes. When he looks in my direction, at me, I turn away and focus my attention on my mother and sister. If I were to look and catch him starting, he would turn away just as quickly. It's a game that we are playing that isn't fun. All it does is leave my stomach twisted in knots and my hands sweaty, and I wish I could stop it—all I'd have to do is not look at him anymore—but I can't.

I'm looking at him again with my head forward and facing my mother and sister but my eyes to the side until my mother claps her hands and the sudden, loud sound makes me jump.

"Time to begin," my mother says, rounding her arms in an in-out motion to encourage everyone just a little bit closer. I step closer but try to stay on the outer edge of the semi-circle around my mother and sister, but I'm closer to Peeta, now, and I feel it more than see it. It's the same feeling I get when there's a strong lightning storm where all of my hairs stand on end and a strange tingle rips through my body. My chest feels constricted and I struggle just a little bit more for each breath even as Fran and Fos approach the semi-circle hand-in-hand.

The crowd parts to let them through until they are standing in front of my mother with Prim at the side to assist. There's a small end table covered with white linen between my mother and the couple. On top of it, there's a metal bowl filled with a lump of wood that has been burned down to small coals, all covered by a small, metal grate. My mother hands the couple a slice of bread and tells them to lay the bread onto the grate together.

They do as they're told while my mother chants a blessing in some long forgotten language called Latin as the bread warms and browns over the coals. Prim joins in, and even though they aren't singing, the sound of their voices together, yet words apart, have an enchanting, ethereal feel that makes me close my eyes and sway to its unusual rhythm. Every part of me pulses, growing stronger and quicker until it's more like a vibration.

I've heard this chant before, many times in Seam toastings, but for some reason it's different this time. I'm not listening to it; I feel it as though it's a part of me. I open my eyes, and I'm not looking straight ahead at my mother, Prim and the couple. I'm looking at Peeta Mellark who is looking at me, and I can see it all around him in jittery waves of deep red-orange. He feels the vibrations too.

The vibrations only get stronger, and all I want to do is to run to him and combine his vibrations with my own, that in doing so, all of the confusion and fears and pain that I've ever felt or will feel will fade away. It takes all of me, every little shred of reasonable thought left in me not to, until the chants end and the desire ebbs.

My mother splits the piece of toast in half, takes one of the halves and splits that in half as well to give one to Fran and one to Fos. They both eat their pieces and my mother says words to them that I should know because I've heard them countless times before, but at the moment I can barely remember my name. My mother gives the couple the other half of the piece of toast and they each eat from one end until their lips touch which is the same moment the entire room erupts into applause and whoops of joy.

Everyone closes in on the couple to give their congratulations, which leaves me and Peeta alone, staring at each other before I can shake my head clear and turn away to help Prim and our mother pack. With Prim's eyes on me, giving me that look, I don't dare look his way again.

* * *

For almost two weeks I try not to think of Fos and Fran's toasting, specifically what I felt that afternoon, but all other toastings afterward, in town and in the Seam, remind me of it, of him. In fact, every day that passes seems to bring with it a word or event to conjure Peeta into my mind for some reason or another.

In town is the obvious one. I swear people are speaking about him more than they ever did, but I try to rationalize how it's just that I'm noticing his name more. In the Seam, it isn't so unusual for someone to mention the bakery and remind me of him. But dandelion wine? When our neighbor asks for my mother's ferment, a brew she hasn't made in years, why does Peeta come to mind? In the woods, I swear the high-pitched bird tweets sound too much like his name. "Peeeet! uh!"

A stream of words I would never use around Prim pours out of my mouth for my entire walk home from the woods because I have a game bag full of squirrels.

I'm losing my mind, and I'm almost certain there's no cure for insanity in the Book.

I walk inside the house to find my mother sitting at the table with Prim standing behind her, patting her back comfortingly. My mother's upset about something, scared about something, and I haven't seen her like this in a very long time. That automatically makes me scared, and I have no idea what's going on.

My mother's hand unclenches from around a small, brown bottle that I've seen her carry out of the door many times before. Both my mother and sister look up at me at the same time and my mother says with a voice that cracks midway, "Cray's gone. There's a new head peacekeeper."

My first thought is to ask why that upsets her, but the meaning around it starts to sink in. Cray wasn't a decent human being, but we were safe with him, at least for the most part with the secret agreement my mother had with him. This new peacekeeper is unknown, and now so is our future.


	7. 7

**_Very Important_**  
_This chapter earns it's M rating. There is a death of a small child, so it could be hard to take for some. Reader discretion is advised (big time)._

_Other notes_  
_Sorry this took so long to get this chapter out. Life got in the way. I had hoped to have this done last weekend, but illness and all. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait. I didn't give it my usual day or two to mull it over for editing because of how late it is getting out, so if you see any glaring errors, please let me know._

_I guess I should have seen this delay coming. With posting the previous chapters so quickly, I knew it couldn't last forever. The funny thing is that my muse is still working overtime. It's everything else that's not cooperating._

_ Also, a big thanks to each and every one of you out there for giving this story a chance (and in some cases a second chance). Thanks for your reviews as well. My muse eats them up like candy. ;)_

* * *

All of District Twelve gathers in the square for another broadcast burning. This time it's in the early afternoon and there are no confused expressions from having been woken late in the night. Everyone knows what we're about to watch; it's right there in the troubled eyes of those around us as they try not to look in the direction of me and my family.

Something about this event is different, though. They've had time to release all of the children from school, time enough for me and Prim to find our mother in the crowd, and we're still waiting for it to begin. Usually it doesn't take this long, but when the screen comes to life, the reason for the delay is clear as day.

Tied to posts are seven people ranging in ages, spanning three generations where the youngest is a girl who can't be more than five. Prim must see her too because I hear her whisper to herself, "They can't," but I have no doubt that they can and they will. Witches are burned no matter their age. It's Panem law.

"Barbara Fuller, Emilia Fuller, Agnes Mason, and Johanna Mason, you have been tried and found guilty of witchcraft," the man that must be their mayor says as he walks down the line of people tied to posts, eying each one by their name. There is no hesitation or remorse in his voice or in his eyes, and it's clear that he has no sympathy for witches. "Theodore Mason, Lucas Mason, and Aaron Fuller, you have been tried and found guilty of conspiracy with known witches."

To be charged with this crime could mean anything: assisting a witch in a spell, accepting a spell from a witch, or even just having anything positive to say about a known witch. By the look of them and their names, though, I feel the chilling reality that these are relatives of the accused witches, that it's an entire family being burned today.

I can't help but to stand a little bit closer to my sister as though that will protect her more, and I scan the crowd of faces to take note of those that seem appalled by what they're witnessing, potential allies of my family, and those that seem either disinterested or even approving of an entire family, a little girl killed.

The first pair of eyes that I see are Gale's. He and his family are near us and his eyes are on me with a look on his face that's as struck with fear as I feel. There are others from the Seam: Thom, Sae and her granddaughter are the ones that stick out in the crowd of dark hair and gray eyes to me. Thom has a hard set in his jaw, and Sae stares at the screen without a hint of emotion on her face. When her granddaughter starts to cry, she pulls her in for a tight hug, but there's still no trace of what she's feeling. I guess after having witnessed so many burnings over so many years as she has, eventually there's a numbness that can come with that time.

I don't want to ever be numb to it. Families like mine are burning, and it's happening more and more. My own could be next, and I would like to think that people would care if or when it happens.

My eyes continue through the crowd until the dark hair and gray eyes change to blond and blue eyed clusters of heads. Delly and her Mellark boyfriend are standing together; she's in his arms and her face is buried in his chest to hide the event from her view. There's only so much she can do—she must know this—because you can't hide from the sounds of someone dying this way. You can't even drown them out with fingers in your ears and humming; I've tried that before when I was younger than Prim. And this isn't just one or two people; it's the death of six adults and one very little girl.

The other Mellarks are there as well, and I see a pair of eyes in that particular shade of blue that draws me in more than just a casual glance. Peeta's staring at me but then looks away quickly. I can't blame him. If I'd claimed my ribbon and people were allowed to believe we were meant to be together, then his chances of being tied to a post along with me and my family would be almost guaranteed just by association.

I take a deep breath and continue through the crowd around me to see just outside of the tightly clustered bodies of our district, Otho. He's standing beside a man I assume is the new head peacekeeper from the symbols decorating his uniform. I've heard that his name is Thread.

Otho gives me a look that is almost friendly which doesn't comfort me but rather sends a chill down my spine. He then tilts his head to the side and back so that his lips are lined with Thread's ear and whispers something. Otho then juts his jaw in my family's direction and the unfamiliar man's eyes follow to find us, to find Prim. It's not hard to spot her and my mother among those from the Seam.

Thread's attention frightens me more than Otho's ever could. I thought we were in danger before with Cray, but now I know just how much my mother had done to keep us safe by providing Cray with her services. How my worries then were nothing compared to what they are now. I try to regain any shred of composure I have left as I pull Prim into my arms and position my body between her and the Thread's focus. I turn my full attention to the screen, ignoring the feeling of their eyes still on us.

On the screen there's a peacekeeper standing to the side of the posts with an almost bored look on his face as he taps something in his hand. I don't think we're meant to hear it, but one of the women tries to comfort the little girl next to her. "It's going to be okay, Emmie. It's going to be okay," It works enough that little Emmie's cries die down to whimpers, but not for long. It's seconds later that the flames ignite and spread down the row of posts. The seven scream and cry and beg for something or someone to help that we all of know will never come.

The young girl's voice is the loudest and Prim rushes to bury her face in my chest. All I can do is hold her as tightly as I can and close my eyes, trying not to think of the three posts waiting for us in the future. I try not to think of Prim crying like that little girl, like that girl from District Eleven. Emmie and Rue, I remind myself of their names because Panem kills little girls, no matter their age, and the least I can do is remember their names.

One of the seven, with the last bit of life left in her, suddenly screams out from the flames, "Mockingjay!"

It's a defiant battle cry. Johanna Mason's last breath is a battle cry for the rebellion.

* * *

After two weeks, the seven still haunt me. It's why I'm now crouched behind a wide trunk of a tree while Gale hides behind a thicket of bushes across from me. It's why our eyes are trained on a buck that's out in the clearing nearby. We need this buck. I need this buck with the trades it will bring, and with Rooba's help, a stash of coins to save for the winter.

After watching that entire family burn to death, I'm terrified that our family will be next. I wake at night with nightmares of watching my family burn. I'm always there tied to a post with them, feeling the heat of the flames and the sounds of their wails, but in my nightmares I don't have the mercy of dying. No. I live long enough to listen to my sweet baby sister scream for me to help her as the heat becomes unbearable, but it's the choking sounds of her last breaths that force me awake, sweating and crying.

I have to convince mother and sister to leave their craft alone, at least for a time, for my sanity. Besides, fewer and fewer people are willing to trade or buy their services since the burnings have become more frequent. Two weeks ago it was the seven family members in District Seven, and last week an old woman from District Four. They're finding witches in all of the districts, killing them, and anyone tied to them, without a second thought.

My hope is that if I can give my sister and mother proof that we can survive the next winter, perhaps they'll be willing to stop for one year. That will at least buy me one year to think of something else.

Gale takes aim and glances my way to see if I'm ready. I close my eyes and pull the bowstring taut as I breathe slowly. Each breath centers me in what I have to do. We both release at the same time, I can hear the arrows fly, the buck grunt and hit the ground, and when I open my eyes, the buck is laying there with one arrow through it's left flank and another just under its ear.

We both rush to retrieve it and begin to tie it to an pole we fashioned from a sturdy sapling. I'm so preoccupied with my own excitement, visions of how I can talk my mother and sister into being reasonable with good trades and some coin in my pocket, I don't think much of it when Gale's hand brushes against mine. I thought it was an accidental touch until I look up to find his eyes shining bright and focused on mine with the same hope I'd seen before when he tried to kiss me.

He's my friend, I remind myself. He can't help the way he feels. But I can't help that I don't feel the same either, so he should understand when I pull my hand away and put some distance between us to check the leg bindings from the other side of the deer.

Gale says nothing to me as we lug the heavy buck through the woods, or when we carefully slip it through the gape in the fence nearest town. It's dusk now, so it's easier for us to carry it without feeling exposed, that we might be easily caught by a peacekeeper. The truth of it is that the penalties for poaching aren't nearly as bad as witchcraft. What's a few lashes compared to burning to death?

We cut through the back yards until we reach Rooba's, and without a word Gale rounds the building to knock on her shop's door. She's closed, now, but she'll open her door for us.

By the time Gale comes back, Rooba's already at her back door and very interested in what's under the blanket. When she lifts it, there's a bright smile that spreads across her face and we're sent home with enough coin to sustain both of our families for a month and the promise of a haunch to split between us when she's done with the butchering.

I'm elated and eager to get home with my plan already half way in motion, but then I remember that I'm not walking back to the Seam alone. Gale is walking behind me with his head low and his hands in his pockets.

I stand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks and give him a long, stern look. "I thought when you didn't claim your ribbon, there was a chance you were going to give us a try," he says to me with a voice that's dripping with his disappointment.

Any other time, I would have lost my patience with him, but I can't ignore the hurt in his eyes. This time I don't have to remind myself that he's my friend because I remember it. I don't feel the same as he does, but I don't want him to hurt either. He's like family; he's like a brother to me. So I take his hands in mine and dip my head so that it's within his sight to coax him to look at me.

After some effort, he does, and my reward for him is the biggest, warmest smile I can give. "This has nothing to do with that ribbon," I tell him. "You and me, we're not like that."

"We could've been," he mutters to the side but I have to raise a skeptical eyebrow at that.

"Could we have? We're so much alike. Wouldn't that be like loving yourself too much?"

I wait for a reaction and am pleasantly surprised that he starts to laugh. He swings our joined hands with a smile I haven't seen on him for quite some time and then leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek. I smile back.

We walk home talking about everything from what we plan to do with our haunch of venison to the ever increasing number of burnings in Panem lately, that by the time I'm home, I wish we weren't so that I could talk to my friend just a little bit more. He kisses me on the cheek and whispers to take care because he knows my plan.

Inside, Prim and my mother are at the table discussing something, and I'm a little curious because they look very guilty with their sudden silence and their eyes that can't seem to look in my direction. Even so, I brushed my curiosity away because I have more important business to take care of.

"I want to make a deal with you two," I say because I have no desire to waste time when I could get right to the point. "I want you both to stop using magick. At least for a year. I can provide for us, see!" I say as I hold out my share of the money Rooba gave us.

Neither my mother nor Prim look surprised by my request. In fact, they glance at each other before they finally look directly at me and my mother takes in a deep breath.

"Katniss, you know that's not possible, and it's not about the money."

"It's a part of our family. We can't let it go that easily," Prim adds in.

I've lost the battle before it even began, but then there's a dangerous twinkle in my little sister's eyes that makes my stomach knot uncomfortably, especially when she says, "But…"

My mother eyes her with some curiosity, while I can only steel myself to prepare for what she has to say next. And it's good that I do because what she says is like a punch in the gut.

"We can't perform individual toastings anymore, so we decided to do one big toasting ceremony in the meadow disguised as a picnic. We will stop all magick for one year, if that's what you want, but you will have to participate in the toasting ceremony and the ritual after."

They know how I feel about magick. I understand that its a part of our family, but it hasn't been a part of my life since my father died. I want to yell and argue and tell them that it's wrong to even ask me to do such a thing when they know all of this, but I have to remember that I just asked them to give up something that is wholly our family. In essence, I just did that to them. So I hold back all of the emotions roiling inside me to keep my face as neutral as I can under the circumstances, nod my head with a mumbled "Agreed," and turn around to walk right back out of the door I not long ago came in from.

* * *

I trod through the grasses that surround the meadow and notice how they've grown as high as my hip in the last few weeks. Just beyond them where the clearing begins, I have to watch my footing with the herbs that have grown from the seeds my mother and sister scattered last fall. Most people don't take so much care when walking around here because they don't know that the simple, broad leafed plant will grow bushy and will be used ease a cough, or that the scraggly fern-like plant will help with fevers. Also, I think of my mother and sister on the ground, working very hard to harvest what's here.

In the center of the clearing the swing from the spring ceremony still hangs from the old oak and won't be taken down until the night of the last toasting ceremonies which, it seems, will be one big, collective ceremony. I usually resent seeing it this time of year, particularly this year as the constant reminder that my ribbon was handed out.

For some reason, tonight it doesn't bother me as much. Tonight, I reach for it, sitting on it to curl my fingers tightly around the ropes and take some comfort in the gentle glide forwards and backwards.

I'm lost. So lost that I grasp at anything to make me feel just a little less scared and angry and frustrated and helpless than I am right now. I even start to sing to myself because it reminds me of my father. Funny that, because he's also the reason why I stopped singing years ago.

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow_  
_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_  
_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_  
_And when you awake, the sun will rise._

My hands continue to hold on to the ropes, and I rest my head on one as I feel it calming me. I close my eyes and let the words spill out in a way that feels unfamiliar from lack of use and yet familiar at the same time.

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_  
_Here the daisies guard you from harm_  
_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_  
_Here is the place where I love you—_

"Katniss?"

My head snaps up and I look in the direction of the voice but I already know who it is; I've heard that voice in my head so many times, in my dreams before the nightmares began.

"Peeta? What are you doing here?" I ask a little bit more gruffly than I would have preferred, but there's something odd about him being so far in the Seam for no reason. If there were a ceremony it would be different, but there's not and here he is with the gentle orange glow of sunset warming the color of his skin.

He doesn't say anything to me as he takes a few more steps closer, and I see his eyes shining with what can only be tears forming, but I'm not sure why. The next step he takes, he reaches into his pocket to pull out a ribbon. My ribbon.

My hands grasp the ropes tighter, and I feel a shiver from my toes work their way up my body. Although my mind urges me to leave the meadow and slip underneath the fence, to go running into the woods even at this time of day, my feet are rooted in the ground right along with the oak beside me. I don't want to talk about the ribbon, but it seems my body won't cooperate. I've already apologized for putting him in the awkward predicament, and it's not even my fault. Still, I find my voice enough to give it one more try. "I did say I'm sorry for the ribbon."

"Why?" he asks while still walking towards me with my green ribbon held tightly in his fist and a new look of determination in his eyes. The simple question barely registers in my head, because I'm too awestruck by how glorious and frightening he looks all at once. His blond hair absorbs the color of the last rays of an orange sun dipping below the tree line. I also see the start of an orange glow radiating from around him very much like the evening of Fos and Fran's toasting. I can't help but think of the glorious sun god from one of the bedtime stories my mother used to tell me when I was very little. I always imagined he would look like…

"Peeta…" His name tumbles out of my mouth but nothing follows. What more is there for me to say, and even if there were, the words would have vanished from my thoughts the moment he stops to kneel in front of me so that his eyes are level with mine.

"I have to do this before I lose what little courage I have," he says to me quickly, and then his lips are on mine. They're soft and warm and strong. They are comforting in that I can no longer think of my family's imminent peril, because my mind and body are completely focused on the feel of them against my own.

I feel them withdrawing from me, but I don't want them to go away, I don't want Peeta Mellark to stop kissing me, so I slip my hands over his shoulders, grabbing hold of him firmly so that he can't leave me. My actions cause a soft moan from him before I feel the tip of his tongue tentatively search for mine which I gladly offer without hesitation.

My arms are around his neck, his arms are around my waist and I feel his very warm body pressed to mine, but it's not enough. My eyes are closed, but I feel his kisses along the crook of my neck and I hear him say to me in breathless rasps, "I wanted you to claim your ribbon, Katniss. I wanted you to claim me."

The words don't make sense to me. He might as well have been speaking gibberish because the only sense I can process is how it feels like every point of contact between his body and mine ignites in a fire that could consume us if we want it to.

"Katniss?"

The small voice comes from somewhere deep in the high grasses just before the clearing. Prim's voice. We both pull apart, and I open my eyes to look around to see him still kneeling in the same position, but I'm no longer on the swing. Somehow, without realizing it, I've managed to sit myself on his lap and wrap my legs around his waist. By the beet red look on his face which can be seen even in the dimming light, I can tell that my position surprises him too.

He's looking at me, waiting for my reaction after the kiss, and with just the little bit of time granted me, my mind can think of things other than Peeta Mellark's lips and tongue, and body again. What he'd said earlier starts to sink in. He wished I'd claimed the ribbon, that I'd claimed him? A part of me is excited by the very idea even though I know it will only be trouble for him, but then I remember the spell.

_I want the same as what mommy and daddy have.  
_He is from town and I'm from the Seam.

_I want him to be strong, and I want him to be kind._  
There is no doubt Peeta Mellark is both.

_And I want him to have hands of life and love.  
_This makes me come to my senses, and I almost laugh at myself at the thought that Peeta could be the one from my spell years ago. I didn't know what "hands of love and life" even meant then and not exactly sure what it means now, but for some reason I think of the dandelion picture he drew and gave to me. It was so real, so full…of life. My thoughts are stuck in some kind of loop, and he must notice because he reaches out to cup my cheek in his hand. It's so warm against my skin and the heat spreads from there outward until I feel it all over. It's a feeling of a warm blanket wrapped around me. At his touch, I feel happy and…loved…of love.

The warmth leeches out of me as I realize the spell made him want me, and that very thought made it easier to tear myself from his hand and his body by lifting myself from his lap.

"You don't know what you really want," I tell him as I stand, as he looks up at me helplessly with confused and hurt eyes. "The ribbon doesn't matter. We choose our own destiny," I say, repeating the words Gale had said to me. "You're better off that way," I tell him before I turn and run to the grasses to catch Prim. With any luck, she's no where close enough to have seen me with Peeta in the clearing.

I find her at the edge of the grasses, very close to reaching the clearing. At first she's startled by my sudden appearance, but then she quickly recovers to say, "I'm sorry, Katniss. We can forget the agreement if it bothers you that much."

"No, Little Duck," I say to her as I lead her home, "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe." I hope she doesn't noticed my quick glance back; I can't help myself.

* * *

_I don't know if all of you noticed but I'm using the victors pool as the witch pool._


End file.
